Much Ado About Something
by Queen Eleni
Summary: Much Ado About Nothing set in Regency England.
1. Dramatis Personae

_**Much Ado about Nothing**_

_Being an entertaining piece, based on Shakespeare's play of the same name, a romantic comedy in which_

_Good conquers Evil,_

_Laughter conquers Tears,_

_And Love conquers All._

Dramatis Personae

**The Gentlemen**

_The Duke of Donpedron_, a man of great wealth and social status.

_John Arragon_, Donpedron's illegitimate and most unsavory brother.

_Leonard Lydal, Earl of Messington,_ a worthy man, the lord of Messington Manor.

_Anthony Olden,_ the Earl's poor relation who dwells at Messington Manor.

_Claude Fotheringay, Viscount of Florce,_ a young friend of the Duke.

_Sir Benedict Pade,_ a renowned soldier, also friend to the Duke.

_Sir James Conrad_, a quiet and respectable baronet.

_Horace Conrad,_ Sir James' ill-reputed son.

_Mr. William Thaster,_ a shy and sensible man.

_Mr. Francis, _the chaplain of Messington Manor.

_Boracton,_ valet to Arragon

_Mr. Dogberry _and _Mr. Verges_, two Bow Street Runners.

**The Ladies**

_Lady Hero Lydal,_ the young daughter of Lord Messington.

_Miss Beatrice Ponard,_ the niece of Lord Messington.

_Lady Conrad_, wife to Sir James, a most imperious woman.

_Miss Ursula Wagell_, a sensible young woman.

_Miss Letitia_ and _Miss Charlotte Wagell_, the silly younger sisters of Ursula.

_Meg Reynolds,_ the pert maid to Lady Hero.

"_If this be true, then loving goes by haps;_

_Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."_


	2. Never Came Trouble to My House Beatrice

**Chapter One: **_Never Came Trouble to my House_

**1**

**Beatrice**

When I was seventeen, Aunt Agatha, or more properly, Lady Messington, the wife of my mother's brother, the Earl of Messington, launched me into society. Mama had made an improvident marriage to a colonel in His Majesty's army, and she died when I was but a child. Papa's family and position being inadequate for what was considered a young lady's proper social life, Aunt Agatha thought firmly that it was her bounden duty to provide me with a London Season. She soon convinced her husband and my father of the complete propriety and necessity of this scheme. She fancied herself in the role of the dutiful aunt, most likely, planting seeds of eternal gratitude in her niece's heart. Truth be told, I was not at all grateful to her, indignant at being removed from the army life I loved, and the father I loved even more. But all the adults concerned in the matter believed it to be For the Best, and so I was shipped off to England without further ado.

I sulked for the first few weeks as I was decked out in finery and taken to parties, refusing to enjoy myself. I had what Aunt Agatha termed potential, being a good-looking, even striking, girl, and possessed of a store of wit, but I would put neither looks nor cleverness to the art of flirtation. I was pining to escape from the oppressive climate of politeness. And because of my sulkiness and frigidity, I did not Take, and Aunt Agatha began to despair. She was adept at despairing; in fact, her passion for despair led her to pour over the tragedies of antiquity. She even induced my uncle to let their daughter be named Hero Cressida. It is needless to add that my uncle was of a very easily persuadable nature. I suppose one must be thankful that Hero was the only child, for the thought of a passel of Didos and Troiluses and Thisbes and Hectors is enough to make one shudder.

As I was saying, longing for my former ways was leading both Aunt Agatha and myself to grief. But then something occurred that altered the course of my London Season. I went to a dinner party and met Benedict Pade. This Lt. Pade was nothing more than a mere soldier, the third son of a country parson. It has ever amazed me that he obtained access to Mrs. Filles-Gimby's dining room, for he had no money, no connections, and wasn't even handsome. I would never have looked at him for a moment save for one circumstance, and Aunt Agatha bemoaned that fact that she was called to look at him at all. But that one circumstance changed everything; he had a Sharp Tongue. I was in love before the second course, and I had revived. Delighted in his unconventional company, I began to exert my own powers of attraction, and by the end of that week Miss Beatrice Ponard had gone from a social nobody to an acknowledged Witty Beauty. I was a royal of Society for a short time, until the engagement of myself to Lt. Pade was announced. Then I became a subject of not always complimentary gossip.

Aunt Agatha wailed. The niece of an Earl to wed a non-commissioned officer, the son of a parson? She wrote to my father in a sad state. But when the reply came some weeks later that his daughter could marry whomever she dashed well wanted to, she resigned herself to the disgrace of such an alliance.

Fortunately for her sensibilities, the engagement lasted for less than a month. Benedict and I had many quarrels, but we at last had The Quarrel. I saw him flirting with Miss Caxton (a divinely beautiful girl, I may add). In my hot-tempered way, I cast up my accusations at him at the first available opportunity. This happened to be while we were dancing at Lady Conrad's ball. Had the setting for our fight been less public, its consequences may have been the same as the previous fights. The dance floor is a most unsuitable place for a lovers' quarrel, especially if both lovers have hot and resentful tempers. The end of it was that Benedict left me on the dance floor, red with embarrassment and rage. The man I loved had betrayed me to public humiliation and I swore never to forgive him.

I sent him back his ring and he soon left England with his regiment. I spent the rest of the season in a flurry of false gaiety, and somewhat regained my social status. I returned to my father in autumn, and he never questioned me about the affair. I remained with the army two more years, only once having the misfortune to see Benedict Pade, at a rather shabby military ball. In novels, former lovers either meet with charming confusion or icy civility. Our method was unique. We threw barbs of wit, publicly insulting each other without consideration of the awed stares we received. Our love had now become none too gentle hatred. I regretted nothing.

When I was nineteen, in the year 1813, my father was killed at Vitoria. At about the same time Aunt Agatha passed away in giving birth to a stillborn son. My father's will made me the ward of my uncle, who asked me come live with his family at Messington Manor. He thought I would be a good companion for his motherless daughter. I had nowhere else to go. So I left the army life for good, and took up residence in my uncle's palatial mansion in Kent.

My cousin, Lady Hero Lydal, was only twelve at the time, but we grew to be friends in spite of our vast differences in age and temperament. My life became a routine of paying calls, playing music, reading, and attending country balls. I spent a few seasons in town with my godmother, Lady Conrad, where I only once met Benedict Pade again. I received several offers of marriage, but I found my life at Messington Manor pleasant enough. Helping Hero get through her adolescent years was challenging enough for my motherly instincts, and I soon became mistress of Messington in actuality. Besides my uncle and cousin, there dwelt with us an aged relative of the Earl's, by name Anthony Olden. He was a dependent of Uncle Leonard's, and my uncle found him to be good company, so he lived at Messington rather than being pensioned off. These three made up my new family, and I found that since my shrewdness greatly exceeded theirs, I could manage them all if I chose. No, I did not become an overbearing female in the style of Aunt Agatha, but I saw to it that everybody at Messington was reasonably healthy and happy. I took upon myself such tasks as mollifying the temperamental cook, and properly placing guests at the table, little things that can make a big difference when neglected. Years passed, and I belonged, I was needed, and I was loved. I was (almost) perfectly content.

In the summer of 1818, my uncle decided to get up a house party, as was his custom at this time of year. Uncle Leonard believed that the ownership of such an estate as Messington Manor obliged him to invite guests at every opportunity. His usual method was to simply send off invitations to anyone that came into his mind. Needless to say, I tried to check these invitations before they were posted, for my uncle would often heedlessly invite very incongruous sets of people. But for the house party of 1818, of which this tale mainly treats, Uncle Leonard eluded me and sent out the invitations before I knew of their existence.

Hero brought me the news, skipping merrily into the library one summer morning, where I sat curled up in an armchair with a copy of Dante's _Inferno._ I was determining which circle of hell was most suited to Benedict Pade when she trotted in. Hero was now all of seventeen, a taking little thing with dark hair and eyes, and a slightly aquiline nose. She considered herself to be a young woman, but I still thought of her as a girl, naïve and inexperienced. She held a paper in her hand, which she waved about as she nearly pounced upon me. I closed the book and set it aside as she exclaimed,

"Oh, Trixie, you'll never guess who is coming to Messington next week!"

"Next week?" I nearly shouted, "My uncle has invited the summer guests for next week?"

"Yes, but he wrote them all a month ago, and he's received all the answers. He just handed me a list for you, so you can see to the arrangements. But Trix, you haven't guessed!"

I was not in a guessing mood. I snatched the paper from her hand and read as follows:

Sir James Conrad and Lady Conrad

Mr. Conrad

Miss Wagell

Miss Letitia Wagell

Miss Charlotte Wagell

Mr. Thaster

Duke of Donpedron

Mr. Arragon

Sir Benedict Pade

Lord Florce

I was speechless. Hero was not.

"Isn't it exciting, Trix? In one week Claude will be here! I haven't seen him in three years. I wonder if he looks the same? He is much in favor with the Duke now, you know. Papa invited him and Sir Benedict because they're such friends of the Duke, I suppose. Claude must have done something very brave in the wars to merit the Duke's attention, don't you think? Of course, he wasn't granted a baronetcy, like Sir Benedict, but I don't think you can give a baronetcy to someone who is already an heir to a viscount. Well, I mean to say Claude isn't an heir to a viscount now, he is a viscount because his father died. What do you say cuz? Will it not be nice to see Claude again?"

I forced myself to think. Claude. Who the deuce was she talking about? Oh, she meant Claude Fotheringay, now Lord Florce; yes, the old Viscount had passed away last autumn. The tall gangly youth who had spent the summers of his childhood at Messington, Aunt Agatha being his mother's cousin and old friend. He had been the playfellow of Hero and the Wagell girls. Come to think of it, Hero had always rather worshipped the fellow. That would account for her enthusiasm. I recalled then that Hero knew little or nothing of my previous engagement to Benedict Pade, and that the name probably meant nothing to her. She had heard of him, of course. Sir Benedict Pade was a name known to all since his many crazy acts of heroism in the war had earned him all sorts of honors. But Hero had no notion that he meant anything to me personally. This put me in a slightly happier mood. I concentrated on Claude.

"I am sure that Claude has proved himself a very worthy boy- young man, I mean," I said to Hero. Good heavens, I sounded like Aunt Agatha. What an interesting prospect. "He was always army-mad, a charming lad, to be sure. How old would he be now?"

"Twenty-one for he is three years and eleven months my elder," replied Hero promptly. She probably knew how many days, too. "I cannot wait to see him again. Do-do you think he'll still be fond of me, Trixie?" This shyly. I responded with aplomb, intending to laugh her out of such anxiety.

"Of course, my dear, how can you doubt? Twenty-one is the ripest age for falling in love, and he is likely to fix his ardor on any pretty, eligible girl obviously mad for him. One look, a sigh, and all shall be settled. He shall wonder to himself why he did not see that you were his destiny from the moment that you met, forgetting that you were a rather fat cherub in leading strings at the time. Really, Hero, you have not a thing to worry about. I'm astonished that you should not have already thought this out. It only took me a few seconds."

The girl shook with giggles. I am proud to say that though at times she can be frustratingly sentimental, even stupid, Hero does have some sense of the ridiculous. When she recovered, she went on.

"But what about these others, cuz? I have met most of them, but not all. I have met the Duke; he visited many times when I was a child, but I don't remember much about him, except that he is a very Important Person. You have been in London, so you must have met most of these people. And who is Mr. Arragon? I never heard of him before."

"Mr. Arragon is not a very nice man to know," I pronounced, glad that she had not asked about Sir Benedict Pade, at least not yet. Hero's curiosity was generally insatiable, and I needed time to collect my wits. "He's not even really respectable. John Arragon is the illegitimate son of the late Duke. Yes, my dear, it happens in the best of families, even families long connected with ours. And no, it is not at all usual for illegitimate sons to be socially accepted. However, the late Duke was very fond of the boy, and actually had him brought up alongside of his own heir. His wife conveniently passed away before this idea took him. John Arragon was given a large allowance, and has ever lived like a gentleman. When the old Duke died, the present Duke felt he must honor his father's wishes by treating Arragon as a full-blooded brother. It causes much talk, although none dare question Donpedron. He is too great a man to be chastised for impropriety. So the Polite World accepts John Arragon, though they do not like him much. He is a bit sinister."

"Sinister? What do you mean?" asked Hero with a shiver. The child really read too many novels.

"He never smiles. And rarely speaks. Besides these personality flaws, he is known to be a gambler and hard drinker."

"He sounds awful. I suppose Papa invited him in order to make his old friend the Duke happy. Let's see, who else don't I know? I've met Lady Conrad; she is your godmother. And Sir James, too. Is Mr. Conrad their son?"

"Yes, and a most unsatisfactory one. I don't think even his parents like him. He is very wild and rackety. Uncle Leonard was trying to include the whole family, but he really should not have invited Horace Conrad, especially as we're to have all the Wagell girls here. Ursula is a good girl, but whatever induced your father to invite Letitia and Lotta both? They are atrociously pert, and Lotta is not yet sixteen! At least we shall not have to bear the company of Mrs. Wagell."

"Mr. and Mrs. Wagell are leaving for Bath next week," explained Hero. "Papa offered to have the girls here for a time. Mr. Wagell has gout, you know, and they think the waters will be just the thing."

"Well, I think that having Letty and Lotta at Messington for an indefinite period of time is not at all the thing! I suppose I had best go and consult with Mrs. Finn about the bedchamber arrangement. You can go discuss hairstyles to impress the nobility with that impertinent little maid of yours."

At this I rose, and began to make for the door, but I felt a hand tug at my arm.

"Oh no, you won't leave until I know about everyone. I want to hear about Sir Benedict," the minx said as she dragged me back to my chair. "I have never met him, but I know he is a man widely spoken of. Papa says he is renowned for his valor and clever wit. What is your opinion? Do you know him?"

"More than I care to," I replied icily. I thought it were best that she heard it from me, so I added, "I had the misfortune to be engaged to him once. That was before he pushed himself into public view."

Hero's eyes widened, "But did you not like him? You must have, if you were engaged to him!"

"Nothing of the sort, child," I said in my best Aunt Agatha voice, "You'll soon learn that liking is not at all required for an engagement. I consider Benedict Pade to be the most arrogant, selfish, ridiculous man in England. Steer clear of him, Hero. He thinks it a great joke to make fools out of women."

At last Hero was silent. I supposed I had given her food for thought. She let me go and I went straight to my bedchamber, entirely neglecting my resolve to consult with the housekeeper. I should say our bedchamber, as Hero and I shared one. It was a very spacious room, with a large adjoining dressing room and a wide balcony that faced south. There was no need to share, for Messington was not lacking in rooms, but Hero had ever been slightly afraid of the dark. When I first came to the Manor, she had been prone to nightmares in which she woke the house with screams. I offered my company, which she eagerly accepted, and my presence at night greatly calmed her nerves.

This situation was not always conducive to my occasional desire for solitude, but in this case I knew that Hero would be occupied for at least an hour in seeking out Meg, her maid, and repeating our entire conversation. She was far too confiding. So I shut myself up and plunged headfirst into a pillow and let my thoughts overwhelm me.

How could my uncle invite Benedict Pade, knowing what he did? He had probably forgotten all about it, or perhaps he thought it was so long ago that it no longer mattered. But it did. I had seen Benedict two years ago in London, and it had unnerved me just as it had in Spain. However great honors he had achieved in the wars, however he had been granted a baronetcy, however he was the great friend of Donpedron, the man still put me on my worst behavior. The very sight of him set my brain to composing first-rate insults. How could I live in the same house as him for any length of time? I was still angry at him, furious at the way he had treated me, and I was still unforgiving.

And besides Sir Benedict, what a singularly ill matched company my uncle had concocted! I knew that Lady Conrad despised Letty Wagell, that Horace Conrad's creditors might very well pursue him into Kent, and that Ursula Wagell had once been very sweet on Lord Florce. What a potentiality for disaster! For the first summer since I had come to Messington, I was dreading the whole season.


	3. Never Came Trouble to My House Ursula

**2**

**Ursula**

I have always been plain, in both appearance and manner. I have therefore never expected anything very exciting to happen to me. I rarely even dreamed of romance or adventure. Even at the one brief period when I was "in love," I did not dwell much on it. My whole life has been spent in the observation of the lives of my acquaintances, but this no longer bothers me. I became accustomed to it, and learned to gain amusement from my boring existence.

That house party at Messington was surely the most interesting event of my life, and had far-reaching consequences for even myself. But I am getting ahead of the story.

When Mama told my sisters and me of the invitation, I was not much surprised for myself. I had been invited to Messington many times; I was one of those unassuming persons who was very convenient to have around to make a fourth at the card table. But Letty and Lotta, my sisters, were ecstatic. Being so young, they had never before been invited as prolonged guests. As Mama explained how Lord Messington was being so kind as to look after us while she and Papa were in Bath, I wondered at how the Earl intended to look after Letty and Lotta. Not even her own father had any control over Letty, and Lotta was bidding to be just as bad. Of course, Beatrice Ponard would be the one who really looked after things. A glare from her bright eyes could quell even Letty's high spirits (most of the time).

I became concerned when Mama told us of the other guests. She was much pleased by the knowledge that her charming daughters would be in the constant society of a Duke, a Viscount, and a baronet, all bachelors. William Thaster and the chaplain did not even figure in her raptures; after all, they were mere misters. Evidently, she had wedding bells in mind; my mother had been planning Great Matches since I turned fifteen. Needless to say, this news made my sisters even more excited. I could see the wheels in Letty's little mind turning rapidly with images of pomp and splendor. As for Lotta, she looked as though she would burst. She felt very grown-up, I'm certain.

But these tidings did not throw me into any exclamations of joy. My first thought was of Beatrice. I was aware of her former relations with Sir Benedict Pade, and I knew instantly that she had had no hand in the invitations. My second thought was of Lord Florce, or Claude, as I had known him. I had been in love with him a few years ago, before he had gone into the army. It was a short-lived love, for he hardly noticed me, and was soon gone. I do not think one continues to love when the beloved goes out of one's sight with no sign of reciprocation. At least, so it was with me, but I daresay I did not fall so very deeply in love in the first place. Anyhow, Lady Hero had always loved him, and still did, as far as I knew. I would not be attempting to win his affections.

But most of my mind dwelt on the dreadful prospect of my sisters among the nobility. Good heavens, the Earl must have been out of his wits to even contemplate such an invitation! What an embarrassment it would be to spend the summer watching Letty and Lotta throw themselves at Donpedron, Pade, and Florce. It was a good thing that I had already reconciled myself to the vulgarity of my mother and sisters. After all, I was used to it and it no longer bothered me. It was even amusing.


	4. Never Came Trouble to My House Hero

**3**

**Hero**

Well, I never saw Trix in such a dull mood as she was that week! To be sure, she still made her usual jokes, but the sparkle was gone out of them. She very efficiently made all the preparations, and spent hours with Mrs. Finn, our housekeeper. I was much perplexed by her lack of spirits, for Beatrice is always so very brilliant. I have often wished that I could have her wit, but she rather outshines me in that (as in most things).

When I told Meg about what Trix told me, about her engagement to Sir Benedict Pade, Meg nodded sagely. Meg was my maid, and she was very knowledgeable about these things. She had once been maid to Lady Marianne Brancaster, a duke's daughter. She likes to talk about her days with Lady Marianne, but never told me precisely why she was no longer with that lady.

"Ah, I always thought Miss Ponard must have been disappointed in love," she declared now, "It explains everything. Come to think of it, I remember Lady Marianne Brancaster mentioning some such affair, years ago, when we were in Town for the Season."

"Explains what?" I asked, puzzled.

"Oh, my lady, why she's so set against men! Why she has never married! All this wit and playfulness she puts on is just a mask to hide her broken heart!"

"But she doesn't like Sir Benedict," I responded, "She said all sorts of horrid things about him."

"Of course she did, my lady, she doesn't want anyone to know."

"Oh." I digested this, and it began to make sense to me. "I don't see why she couldn't confide in me. After all, I tell her everything."

The Wagell girls arrived on Monday, the first of our guests. I like the Wagells. Letty is closest to my age, and I immediately took her and Lotta off to show them my new gown. Ursula stayed with Beatrice. Trix is very fond of Ursula, but she doesn't like Letty and Lotta at all. I am not sure why, but she thinks they are very silly. I know they are not perfectly genteel, but they are very good-humored girls and such fun. Letty can think of the most amusing games to play.

Sir James and Lady Conrad arrived the next day, with their son. Sir James, who is a thin, quiet man, bade me good day, and went off to play backgammon with Cousin Anthony. Lady Conrad patted my cheek, said I was growing pretty, and shuddered when she saw Letty. I was ever a bit afraid of Lady Conrad. She is a very imperious woman, and has a nose like a parrot's beak. She is Trixie's godmother, having been my aunt's dearest friend. She likes Beatrice much more than she likes me, and mostly ignores me. My cousin was very glad to see her. I wondered how much Lady Conrad knew about Benedict Pade.

Horace Conrad was rather rude. He had dull brown hair, plain features, and blazing dark eyes. His nose was more like a hawk's than a parrot's, but still remarkably birdlike. He barely acknowledged my presence, winked at Letty, then went off with the gentlemen. Trix was right; he seemed a most unpleasant young man. Nothing like Claude.

Beatrice could see it all very plainly. I was in love with Claude, had been since I was twelve. I was very sad when he went away, and a bit afraid. The only service he really had was at Waterloo, but anyone can get shot. But he didn't get shot, and was given a medal for some heroic action there. I was much pleased when I heard that news, but I would have been more pleased if he had come to see us directly the war was over.

Now he was coming, after three years! My father said he had been staying with the Duke in London. This at first worried me, for there are many very beautiful ladies in London, or so Meg says. But Trix told me not to be a goose and that Meg is a very stupid girl. Trix doesn't like Meg either. In fact, she is often very rude to Meg, but I don't understand why.

Well, the Duke and his friends were the last arrivals. Mr. Thaster came on the same day as the Conrads. He was a friend of my father's who lived in a nearby neighborhood, a bachelor of about forty years. But Letty and Lotta did not flirt with him, for he is plain and not at all rich. Besides, I don't know precisely how one could flirt with Mr. Thaster. He is a very humble sort of man, who likes music and books, and he has a very good singing voice. Sometimes he and my cousin would sing duets, but he really had to be almost cudgeled into performing. He and our chaplain, Mr. Francis, got along very well, and I think that Mr. Thaster was also somewhat sweet on Ursula Wagell. But I doubted that anything would ever come from it, for Mr. Thaster was shy, and Ursula never encouraged attention from anyone.

I got up very early on Thursday morning, and quickly dressed myself. Beatrice heard me moving about, yawned, and opened her eyes to glare at me.

"Whatever is the matter with you, Hero?" she asked crabbily, "They won't be here until this afternoon."

"Oh, I'm just not tired," I said.

"Since when has that stopped you, or me, from lying in bed half the morning? Really, you might have some consideration for your poor cousin who is not at all excited by the prospect of today's arrivals."

"Of course you are excited," I said, skipping over to kiss her cheek. She snorted. "You will have someone to argue with the whole summer. It must make you very happy."

"Just what do you mean by that?" she demanded, suddenly very much alert.

"Why, Sir Benedict Pade, of course," I replied with my widest stare, "Meg told me all about it. You see, she was in London with Lady Marianne Brancaster the season you were engaged to him, and she told be how you were always arguing, and how everyone thought you enjoyed it so. And then I asked Papa about it, and he said-"

"Curse Lady Marianne Brancaster, and curse that nosy maid of yours!" exclaimed Trix, her face slightly red, "You should not listen to gossip!"

"But Papa does not gossip, and he said-"

"I have no desire to know what Uncle Leonard said!" proclaimed Trix almost savagely, "He knows nothing of the matter! And I wish you will not speak to me of Benedict Pade so early in the morning. It is enough to make me ill."

"Very well," I said, turning to the mirror to brush my hair, "But I must fix my hair. How do you think I should wear it? Never mind, I'll ask Meg. You can go back to sleep."

This had the desired effect of prompting Trix to get up, pull on her dressing gown, and take the brush from my hand. Trix is very good at fixing my hair, even better than Meg. So I daresay I looked nicer than Lady Marianne Brancaster.

Trixie made no more outbursts that morning. Perhaps she was just crabby from waking so early. Though she doesn't really sleep half the morning, she just reads under the covers. It is a strange habit, but one of long standing. She doesn't think I know about it, and that all her claims to laziness are false. Anyway, she was perfectly calm and amiable when we went down to breakfast. We met Ursula, Mr. Thaster, and Mr. Francis at the table, for they are all early risers. I though this a good arrangement, for Trix likes all three, though she finds the two gentlemen a bit dull. It was all very propitious, for I wanted her to be in a Good Mood when the Duke and his party arrived.

At midmorning all the gentlemen went shooting. I don't know why they like to shoot, it sounds horrible to me. Trix says they hunt animals to keep themselves from wringing women's necks, but that was a joke, I think. Letty decided to get up a game of tiddly-winks in the drawing-room, and so all of us young ladies spent an hour at it. Ursula won twice and Beatrice once; Letty and I played terribly and Lotta proved to be quite good at the game. I didn't mention Lady Conrad, since she didn't play. She sat and read the society pages of the newspaper. I suppose that is one of the duties of a married lady?

When the game was over, Lady Conrad suggested that we play some music. I could tell that Letty had little interest; she is an indifferent musician and does not like to be showed up. But Lotta has a pretty voice- Trix says it is her only good quality- and both Trix and Ursula play the pianoforte well. I myself can play the pianoforte, but am much more proficient on the harp. We took turns playing and singing, and made up duets and trios, and eventually got rather silly. The time flew by, and it was nearly time for a luncheon when Beatrice began playing a rather fast-paced tune- I think it must have been Spanish- and I grabbed Lotta's hand, and we danced about. Ursula and Letty clapped to keep time, and even Lady Conrad smiled at our pranks. How indulgent of her! Trixie's fingers flew, and we giggled even louder, and the fun was so great that we didn't hear the door open. But Beatrice stopped abruptly when a group of gentlemen walked in.

As I whirled to a halt, I realized that this group consisted no only of the morning's hunting party, but also of four new arrivals. I recognized the Duke of Donpedron from his dignified bearing, grey-flecked hair, and impeccably-cut coat; beside him stood a dark, stiff gentleman wearing a faint mocking smile that I did not like at all. Then there was a wiry, dark-haired man with harsh features and piercing grey eyes. I assumed this must be Sir Benedict Pade, for Trix was regarding him with evident hostility. But then my eyes fell upon the fourth, a tall young man with fair, waving hair, wide blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. I no longer paid heed to another soul. It was Claude.


	5. Never Came Trouble to My House Benedict

**4**

**Benedict**

Messington Manor was the last place in the world where I wished to spend my summer. I would rather have gone back to my leaky tent in the Pyrenees. When I told Donpedron of my deep disapproval of his plans, he merely laughed. That is the problem with being known for one's wit and cleverness, nobody ever takes one seriously.

I did go, of course. I couldn't cry off when I so obviously had no other plans. I considered inducing my brother Francis to invite me to his rectory for the summer, but as his wife was in the family way, they really did not need a guest. As I worked my way down the list, I realized that similar circumstances inconvenienced the houses of Martin, Catherine, Gregory, Winifred, and Clare. As for Augustine, he was in India, and it was too late to book passage. I might add that my mother's passion for "Lives of the Saints" was as great as the late Lady Messington's for classical tragedy. My siblings' saintly names, however, were at present useless to me. I felt let down by my family.

I reasoned that although the presence of Beatrice Ponard would make Messington Manor akin to hell, I could at least have the amusement of provoking her temper. So I wrote thanking the Earl for his invitation, and packed my things.

We traveled together, the four of us, mounted on horses with our luggage pulled by a coach. Claude and I had been staying with Donpedron in town, but Arragon had his own lodgings and joined us on the road. He never attempted to make himself agreeable, but rode on in silence beside us. Nobody liked him, and I wondered why on earth the Duke was so kind to him. A few years ago the scurvy fellow had even tried to claim his legitimacy and disinherit the Duke. It was an item of gossip and a grand case for the courts, but it came to nothing. John had effected reconciliation with his brother, and Donpedron continued to countenance him. I believe it was because of his all-embracing sense of duty. The Duke always did take his own honor a little too seriously.

The journey was not a very long one, and we in fact arrived two hours earlier than we were expected. As we rode up to the Manor, we were spotted by the Earl and his companions, returning from their shooting. The Earl greeted us enthusiastically, and introduced us to those of his friends with whom we were not acquainted. The silly man even tried to extend a warm welcome to John Arragon, an effort wasted. Arragon nodded, murmured a few polite words, and did not open his mouth again. I knew Sir James rather well, but was surprised to find his disgraceful son a member of the party. We walked inside, and as I made small talk with a Mr. Thaster, I reflected that young Conrad and Arragon were hardly suited for a country house party. Unsavory, both of them, and no charm to make up for their lack of general civility. I myself was no stickler for propriety, but I have a brilliant personality to make up for it.

Lord Messington insisted on taking us to meet the ladies straight away. He was a man who prided himself on standing on little formality. Personally, I thought that he was determined for his daughter to catch the eye of either Donpedron or Claude as soon as possible. Perhaps he also was wishing to get rid of his niece. I was afraid that he would have no luck there.

He was rather bewildered when he flung wide the drawing-room door to find his daughter engaged in what can only be termed a romp. My eyes quickly scanned the room, and rested for a moment on the slightly pale face of Beatrice Ponard. I noticed that she did not look at all altered. After one sharp glance at me, she turned her eyes pointedly away, as if I were some filthy animal that disgusted her. As greetings ensued, I mentally evaluated the scene. Lord Messington first presented Lady Hero to the Duke. She curtsied and blushed, and I thought her a typical girl, pretty, but with no especial beauty. Her hair was very well-done, but it was the only distinguished thing about her. The Duke appeared to be quite charmed by her, as he usually does when meeting young ladies. It is a mixture of politeness and a flirtatious disposition.

"I am very happy to see you grown so well," he said, "Indeed, you are a worthy daughter of a worthy father." The girl blushed some more, murmured thanks, and darted glances at Claude from beneath her long eyelashes. He made his bow to her, expressed his pleasure at seeing her again, and then was silent. I was then introduced to the chit, and I managed to say gallantly,

"My dear Lady Hero, I have heard of your great charm, and am inexpressibly pleased to make your acquaintance at last. I will not waste my time in comparisons with your father; what young lady would wish to be likened to her father?" This was all said in my usual jesting tone, and Lady Hero was not so stupid that she did not realize it. She giggled, and the two young nitwits styling themselves as Miss Letitia and Miss Charlotte Wagell followed her example. The eldest Miss Wagell smiled, and the Earl was about to introduce Arragon when Beatrice Ponard said in a rude, condescending tone,

"I wonder that you will talk on so, Sir Benedict. I do not think that anyone marks you."

I had, really I had, hoped to ignore Miss Ponard for at least a day, but what could an honorable man do when so deliberately provoked? I turned my eyes slowly and carefully toward her until they rested calmly on that beautiful face.

"Ah, my dear Lady Disdain," I remarked, "Are you yet living?"

"Is it possible that disdain should die when it has such food as yourself to feast upon?" she replied coolly, "I suppose that even courtesy itself must convert to disdain when you are in its presence."

Rather good, this, but quite intolerable. The others were all looking on, some in amusement, and some, namely Lady Hero, in bewilderment.

"Then courtesy is a turncoat. It is such a pity that you hate me so, for, assuredly, I am used to being admired by the ladies. You must be the odd one out. It is too bad for them that I love none. I suppose I am hard-hearted."

"Too bad!" she snorted. Miss Beatrice Ponard was the only young lady I had ever met who could snort in good society and still be considered good society. "A great happiness, you mean! The ladies would otherwise be plagued by a most pernicious suitor. Though," she added in a manner of assumed thoughtfulness, "I am one with you in that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than hear any man say he loves me."

"May the good Lord keep you in that same mind, Miss Ponard," I said, knowing that her latter shaft was aimed at me as well as the first, "For then some man shall escape an inevitable scratched face."

Those hazel eyes flashed angrily as she quickly retorted, "Scratching could nor make it any worse if it were such a face as yours!"

I wondered how she had ever managed to carry off the appearance of respectability, and decided that her social position was entirely due to her uncle's good name. Such blatant abuse could only be met with more of its kind.

"Well, you are a rare speaker of nonsense, a veritable parrot!" Not one of my better efforts, I admit, but it is hard to always come up with something on the spur of the moment. Her answer was harsh, but it was no wittier.

"A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours!" Now, really the obvious thing to say would have been, "A parrot only repeats what it hears," thus implying that her low opinion of me was the general one. I suppose her anger was making her sloppy. It was time to end this little exchange of words.

"I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, Miss Ponard, and was as indefatigable. Keep your way, I have done." Then I turned to address myself to Lady Conrad, completely ignoring my opponent's reaction.

Beatrice Ponard muttered something, and I felt the smug feeling of victory. She immediately exerted her charm on Claude, trying to pull him into conversation with her dab of a cousin. The Lady Hero had been watching us in amazement, but she did not need persuasion to turn her eyes elsewhere. As for the others, they at least were polite enough to now seem uninterested in the recent skirmish. The Duke, in fact, had been quietly speaking to the somewhat startled Earl throughout the whole of our converse.

I exchanged witticisms of a milder tone with Lady Conrad. A fierce woman if ever I saw one, and one of the few women I have ever liked. I find most women to be intolerable- silly things who never truly think of more than their clothes, their suitors, and the suitors of their acquaintances. I can manage to behave decently, even gallantly to them, but my frank detestation for the fairer sex has given rise to the belief that all my shows of courtesy are a joke. Which is quite true. But Lady Conrad was a superb woman, and conversation with her was generally worthwhile.

"How does your family, Benedict?" she inquired. I never met anyone else who was interested in my family, for they were not at all considered to be High Society. But the Conrad estate was in the same county as my father's parish, and my brother Martin served as the rector of the Conrad's neighborhood. In fact, it was through Lady Conrad's notice that I was invited to that dinner party so many years ago. I have never been quite sure whether or not I should be grateful to her for such friendship.

"They are well enough," I said. "Martin's wife, as you may know, is expecting their third; Francis is awaiting his fifth, Winifred her second, Catherine her third, Gregory his first, and Clare trumps them all by expecting her seventh. Although I am aware that such matters are improper drawing room conversation, I feel bound to mention it in case you were either hoping or fearing that the house of Pade was dwindling."

"Couldn't get an invitation elsewhere?" inquired Lady Conrad knowingly. "I wondered you couldn't find an excuse to avoid meeting my goddaughter."

"My dear lady," I said in protestation, though I knew she would see right through it. "My feelings toward Miss Ponard are of complete indifference!"

"Yes, I'm sure you're as indifferent to her as she is to you."

Supper that night was a wretched affair and the evening activities not much better. Claude and Lady Hero spent their time trying not to look at each other, and I had to listen to Miss Letitia Wagell's conversation for longer than was healthy for any man of sense. I played cards with Miss Ponard, Miss Wagell, and Mr. Thaster (to escape from Letty Wagell), and lost.

After the ladies retired to bed, I made my way outside to the gardens to smoke a cigarillo. My friends thought this army habit a disgusting one, but I found inhaling pinches of snuff taken from enameled boxes much more disgusting. I was surprised to find Claude in the garden as well. He was gazing at a certain balcony window from afar.

"Oh, hullo, Benedict," he said when my deliberately loud steps awoke him from his reverie. I greeted him cordially, and he continued in silence for several moments. Then: "What do you think of Lady Hero, Benedict?"

"Well, do you want an honest opinion?" I inquired.

"Yes, of course. She is a charming girl, do you not think?"  
"Well," I began, thinking for a moment. "I think she's… too short for high praise, too little for great praise, and too dark for fair praise. There, will that do?"

"No, it will not!" exclaimed Florce, almost angrily. I had never seen the boy so perturbed. "Let me know what you truly think of her!"

"Do you wish to buy her? Is that why you inquire after her merits?" I asked lightly. I knew where this was going and did not like it. There is nothing as maudlin as a lovesick youth. Claude sighed.

"Can the world buy such a jewel?"

Pathetic. Clearly the lad had been reading too much Shakespeare.

"Yes," I replied firmly, "And a box to put it in for sixpence extra."

Claude, seeing that I would only frustrate him further, tramped back into the house. I remained outside until my cigarillo had breathed its last, contemplating the day's events. Claude was going to be a nuisance, I could see that plainly enough. He would doubtless take the Duke into his confidence; then Donpedron would play the matchmaker. I had seen him at it before. Nothing pleased His Grace more than arranging the lives of his friends. It was his hobby. Well, he could make me visit Messington and he could preside over Claude's love life, but he would never trick me into such a serious step as matrimony.

I thought of Beatrice Ponard; she had mocked me several times during the course of the evening, and had flirted with Donpedron. A plague on all women!


	6. Any Model to Build Mischief on Donpedron

**Chapter Two:** _Any Model to Build Mischief On_

**1**

**Donpedron**

I had accepted Lord Messington's invitation out of civility, but as soon as I stepped into the drawing room, I knew there was much enjoyment ahead of me. Although I prefer the energy and society of London, a stay in the country is the perfect setting for observation of character (on this point I have had to disagree with my good friend Mr. Darcy). The Earl had managed to assemble quite a tolerable company of oddities, and I felt to be in my element.

The Miss Wagells, of course, were rather ordinary types, so I paid no heed to them, nor to Sir James Conrad, a very dull dog. But I instantly perceived that a match between Florce and Lady Hero would be just the thing. No doubt, it may have come about on its own if I had not interfered, but I could not leave it alone. There is no harm in hurrying things a little, and Florce was rather tongue-tied before the ladies. Besides, if there was good sport to be got out of the matter, why should I not have my share of it?

I could perceive that better sport was to be got out of Benedict Pade and Beatrice Ponard. Despite their avowed mutual hatred, I could see that there was a strong affinity between the two. They were both of them strong-willed, intelligent, and unconventional, and equals in all three traits. And as far as family and fortune went, it was a most suitable match. Their being engaged once I took as a good omen, as I did with the fact of their having the same initials. The thought occurred to me that when two fires meet, they must eventually consume the object of their anger.

But they could wait. My first self-appointed task was the bringing together of Florce and Lady Hero. After a good day's hunting, I went to play at billiards with Florce and Pade. Pade's concentration was on the game, but Florce continually hit amiss. I asked him if he was well, and was answered by a snort from Benedict.

"He is well enough," said Benedict, "If you can call being in love well."

Claude glared at Benedict and remained silent. Benedict laughed, saying, "Would Your Grace desire to know the object of our friend's love, the reason of his deplorable game? For I declare, I was not sworn to secrecy."

"Do tell, Benedict," I said, but with a sympathetic glance at Claude.

"Why, the answer is a short one; for, indeed, he is in love with Lady Hero, the Earl's short daughter!"

"Is it so?" I inquired of Claude. He turned red.

"Yes. I hope nobody objects?" He said this in a voice dripping with sarcasm, a tone he does not usually adopt. It was so unexpected that it sent Benedict off into another snort. Really, the man complains about Miss Ponard's snorts, you would think he would not so often snort himself.

"Why of course not, my dear boy," I said. "If you love her, by all means continue with it." Claude's anger passed, and he leaned against the wall, sighing.

"I feel that I do love her, most ardently," he said.

"I know that she is a most worthy lady," I said comfortingly.

"I neither know how she should be loved nor feel how she should be worthy," Benedict remarked dryly as he sent two balls to their desired destination. "And that is an opinion that I shall hold, most ardently, in spite of all protestations to the contrary."

"Lady Hero is quite a lovely girl," I objected, seeing that Benedict had once again aroused Claude's anger.

"Lovely? Even her cursed cousin as far exceeds her in beauty as the first of May does the last of December, were she not the very devil in temperament."

"You seem very keen on Miss Ponard," said Claude, eager to turn the tables and escape further persecution. "One would almost think you were contemplating matrimony yourself."

"I?" exclaimed Benedict, missing his mark. It was finally my turn, and I made a very good play of it as Benedict went on a rant. "Good heavens, boy, I, bind myself to a woman for the rest of my life? That my mother bore me, I am grateful, but a curse be on any woman who should try to ensnare me! No Claude, I will leave you to be leg-shackled, and don't you come whining to me when you find yourself become the slave of that little chit."

"Yet I will see you married, Pade," said I, very well pleased with my latest shot, "and turn pale at the mere mention of your beloved."

"Turn pale with sickness," objected Pade, with a flourish of his hand, "or pale with anger, or even pale with fear, Your Grace. But not with love. And if I ever do, you and young Lord Florce here have my permission to nail a sign to my brow, saying, 'Here is Benedict, the married man.' Your shot, Claude, but I am afraid that you grow distracted."

"I think the Duke has already won," said Florce, "We may as well stop now."

"Then I shall stroll about in the gardens; or mayhap I will find one of the ladies and plague her, as Miss Ponard would put it. I shall leave Your Grace to deal with Cupid's latest victim, for I want none of it." And with that, Pade left the room. I was truly glad of it, for I felt that his anti-matrimonial views would in no way aid my plans. Lord Florce began to put away his cue.

"Lady Hero is the Earl's sole heir, I believe," he mentioned casually. Good, at least he was going to be somewhat sensible about this marriage.

"Indeed, Claude," I said, "With all her manifold attractions, Lady Hero is a prize indeed." I watched him out of the corner of my eye as we replaced the balls. He moved listlessly for awhile, then blurted out,

"I've known Hero all my life, but never thought of her in this way! I mean to say, all I cared about when I was younger was the army. But now that I am home, the war over, she strikes me as-as the sweetest girl in the world!"

"You've grown up Claude, and so has she," (I can't say that I believed this statement to be entirely truthful). "It is quite natural, and indeed most suitable that you should make a match of it."

"But I know nothing of courtship! How am I to gain her good opinion? I turn mute when I see her! Your Grace, you must advise me!"

Perfect, I thought. I wouldn't tell him that Hero was obviously in love with him, for that would be too simple.

"I suppose I might help you," I said carefully, "in fact, I have a bit of a plan already. Is not Lord Messington to hold a masked ball in two days?"

Claude nodded, somewhat puzzled.

"It is ideal, my boy. I will pretend to be you, and woo Lady Hero. It will break the ice with her."

"But then what?" he asked, a crease in his brow. "It cannot go on like that, can it? There will be an unmasking at supper."

"Before supper, I shall speak to her father, and you will be presented as an aspirant to Hero's hand. I daresay you can take over for yourself after being established as Hero's suitor?"

"Yes," he said slowly, "but it seems a rather odd way of going about it. Do you think it will work? And what if Hero doesn't like being tricked?"

"All young ladies enjoy a bit of fun," I asserted firmly, "and I doubt that Lady Hero is any different from the others in that respect."


	7. Any Model to Build Mischief on Arragon

**2**

**Arragon**

There are two things you must know about me. Firstly, I absolutely despise, abhor, and hate my brother the Duke. You may think this is unreasonable, but I have great cause. All my life, even though I was the elder, he got all the attention, all the honor, all the wealth, all the greatness. Simply because my father was not married to my mother, I had to be the lesser boy and the lesser man. They say I should be grateful that my father and his wife allowed me to be raised alongside of their own precious son. Grateful? Because I was so privileged as to grow up continually in the shadow of someone younger, shorter, and considerably less intelligent? And ought I to be grateful for my brother's acknowledgement of me? On the contrary, he ought to be grateful that I condescended to knock some sense into him when we were boys, for he never would have acquired it on his own.

Secondly, I am a villain. Since the world has decided to knock me into a lower status, I choose to make the most of it. I will not be conciliating, I will be wicked. I possess a clever mind, and I will use it to take advantage of the multitudes of people who live their lives never dreaming of what fools they are. Such as my brother. I can make mischief, and make it well, and I will never stop planning ways in which to annoy, shock, even ruin my brother. My scheme to filch his inheritance did not technically succeed, but I did not think it would. What was accomplished was the name of Donpedron being dragged through the courts, and I know my brother did not like that.

But that affair was over, and it was time to try something else. Something that would strike at my brother's honor and at his heart. I accompanied him to Messington only to find such a way.

Young Horace Conrad was a natural ally, although I wouldn't trust him with anything. He was possessed of great ill-nature and was willing to besmirch anyone's good name. While my brother and his jolly companions played at billiards that afternoon, I hosted Conrad in my chamber with some excellent wine. The fellow habitually got drunk before evening. He was being very tiresome, and so I sent him away when my valet Boracton entered.

"I must dress for dinner, my friend," said I. "And you had better make yourself presentable." So he left, and Boracton bowed to him. Boracton is a treasure I picked up on a journey to Italy several years ago. He is in his early thirties, I think, a small but well-looking man, with a countenance that changes rapidly from one emotion to another. He has been employed as both a robber and an actor during his career, and I find him of great assistance in such activities as gambling, forgery, and general trouble-making.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said as he laid out my evening clothes.

"What news, Boracton?"

"I happened to pass by the billiard room, sir, while your brother and Lord Florce were playing."

"And you heard something of interest?"

"Well, sir, they were discussing a matter of the heart, as you might put it."

"Do tell!" Matters of the heart were always good for an intrigue.

"Lord Florce was telling the Duke as how he'd fallen in love with Lady Hero. And your brother was concocting a scheme to help him. At the masque ball in two night's time, the Duke is to court the lady in the guise of Lord Florce. Then he is to break with her father, and Lord Florce shall become Lady Hero's suitor."

If I had not been so pleased, I could have groaned. My brother's pathetic schemes were my greatest embarrassment.

"And we shall turn this to our use," said I.


	8. Any Model to Build Mischief on Meg

**3**

**Meg**

My mistress was in such a taking about Lord Florce, and I can't say that I blamed her. Such a handsome man as he was! She shared her sentiments with me, and I fully sympathized with her, and advised her to set her sights on him. The only thing I have to complain about in my lady is that she is a good deal too shy about such things, and needs to be prompted every now and then. Lady Hero has a great amount of will, but does not always use it to her advantage. That accursed cousin of hers is always going on about how my lady ought to be on her guard. What I'd like to know is why she doesn't take her own advice! For Miss Beatrice has a mighty unguarded tongue, as well we all know!

Well, after Miss Beatrice had done warning Hero not to show too much of her heart, she went off to make preparations for the masque ball. Miss Beatrice was so mad about not having been told about the ball until the last minute, as it were. She was full of how ridiculous a masque ball was if held at a country house, and went on and on about the impropriety of the thing. My lady only laughed and told me that she had always wished to attend a masque ball.

"The thing is," she confided, "Papa was not so very keen on the idea, but I begged and pleaded with him, and he at last agreed. And of course we had to keep it a secret from Trixie until the invitations were out, for she would have put a quick stop to it."

"Now what shall you wear, my lady?" I asked, moving straight on to the most important matter.

"I don't know. I wish to look dashing, so Claude will think me very beautiful. We wrote on the invitations that all are to wear masks, but not dominos, for I daresay most people hereabouts have never even heard of such things. Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, as though a thought had just occurred to her. "I daresay he won't be able to recognize me!"

"But, my lady, that is the whole purpose," I explained to her. "Nobody shall know who you are, so you may act as you please. No need to be an obedient miss, you can flirt with Lord Florce atrociously, if you like."

The notion of flirting atrociously seemed to make her a bit uneasy.

"Now, my lady, don't be so shy, you'll never catch your man that way. These things demand determination. If you don't show Lord Florce you love him, how is he supposed to know it? Gentlemen need encouragement, you know, and if you don't help him along a bit, you'll end up an old maid like your cousin."

"But Trixie isn't an old maid because of that," my lady objected. "She is quite at ease with gentlemen, and often flirts."

"And then ruins it all by airing her low views of men, and ripping up every time she is given the least provocation. And don't think gentlemen like to be laughed at when they make compliments, for nothing is more certain to disgust them."

"You seem to know a good deal about gentlemen, Meg."

"I've been around longer than you have, my lady," I replied sagely. This was true, though I was only twenty-three. "Lady Marianne Brancaster knew just how to handle the gentlemen, and look how well she did for herself!"

"I suppose you're right, Meg," Lady Hero said, and her eyes began to sparkle. "It shall be great fun, I think! I shall wear my cream gown, no, I mean, the pink. Trix is going to wear that lovely gold, but she doesn't know it yet. And we must do something particularly dashing to my hair. Go away now, Meg, I need to think."

I curtsied and left, making my way to the servant's quarters. There I saw Mr. Boracton, the valet of that horrid Mr. Arragon. Boracton was not a particularly handsome man, but he was young and not ill-looking, so I decided he was worth an effort.

"Good day, Mr. Boracton," I said with a curtsey and a simper. He bowed in return and flashed me a smile.

"Good day, Miss Margaret," he said. "Are you on some errand for your mistress?"

"Oh, no, I am quite at leisure. My lady is busy."

"Then perhaps you will escort me about the house, that I might better understand its ways."

"I should be happy to, Mr. Boracton." It was just such a chance I had been waiting for. We roamed about, talking mainly about my master and mistress, and I told him all sorts of interesting things. He listened avidly, and by the time our walk was over, we had established a good understanding. We had both decided to dress up and go to the ball ourselves. After all, who would know?


	9. Any Model to Build Mischief on Ursula

**4**

**Ursula**

Poor Beatrice. Her uncle gave her two days' notice to prepare for a ball, and she was so busy for a time that she nearly forgot Sir Benedict's presence. I offered her my assistance, and she gratefully accepted. I spent the day before the night of the ball carefully picking flowers with the head gardener for company. Since Beatrice intended to drape red silk about the ballroom, I thought that red and white roses would be just the thing. When we had finally finished the task, the gardener took most of the blooms to the house while I lingered in the rose garden with my own basket. It was a charming place, and bade fair to become one of the beauties of the county. We had a garden at home, of course, but it was nothing to the grandeur of Messington's grounds. And my mother, not I, had control of our little garden. I knew that although Hero had conceived the idea for the rose garden, Beatrice had been the one to design and oversee the making of it. I found myself wishing that I had some place of my own to care for.

As I walked along, I was intercepted by Mr. Thaster. He smiled and bowed, and offered to carry my basket for me. I accepted his help, for the basket was growing heavy, and he joined me on my stroll towards the house.

"Are you looking forward to this evening, Miss Wagell?" he asked in a quiet and polite tone.

"Yes, Mr. Thaster, though not nearly as much as my sisters are," I replied with a smile.

"Well, I see nothing strange in that. It is not often that our neighborhood is given such a high treat."

"Indeed you are right. Miss Ponard is in fact of the opinion that it is a treat totally unsuited to our neighborhood."

"I hope she is wrong, Miss Wagell," he said, "but I do see her point. However, there is no harm in it."

"No, indeed." Our conversation went something like this until we reached the house. It was dull, to be sure, but comfortable; Mr. Thaster was possessed of the inability to embarrass anyone. I had always liked him, ever since I was a girl. He was plain and dull, like myself, but kind and not stupid. I sometimes wondered if he, like I, gained amusement from observing the behavior of others.

At the house we parted, and after taking care of the flowers, I went upstairs to find Lady Hero and my sisters emptying a closet in Hero and Beatrice's bedchamber. The beds were both covered with gowns and gloves and the like. When I came in, Lotta squealed and ran to me.

"Ursula! We've just recalled that we have not any masks!"

"We shall have to go to the village immediately," said Letty, "and see if there are any at Tatley's. Though I shouldn't think there would be."

"There are three masks in my room," I said calmly, "but you do not need them yet."

"Oh, how clever you are, Ursula!" gushed Letty. "But we do need them now, for we are going to decide which gowns to wear, and we want to see what they will look like with masks."

"Since you and Lotta each have only one ball gown, I shouldn't think it would be much of a decision."

"Ursula, don't be so practical," begged Hero. "You are beginning to sound like Trix! Now, Meg, go and fetch the masks from Miss Ursula's room."

Meg went off with a pert shake of her dark curls, and Hero explained to me that she was very willing to lend Letty and Lotta anything they liked.

"But I wish Trixie would come help us, for she always knows just what looks best," she added. "I don't know why she must make herself so busy. Mrs. Finn is perfectly capable of managing."

As she spoke, Meg returned, followed by Beatrice herself. Beatrice flung herself into a chair and gave an exhausted sigh. "All is done," she announced. Then she looked about at the messiness of the room. "Good gracious, has there been a storm?"

"No, we are trying to decide on what to wear," said Hero, very happy to see her cousin, "and you are going to help us."

"Am I? I haven't yet decided what to wear myself."

"Oh, you are going to wear the gold gown. But never mind that now, should Lotta wear blue or white?"

As Hero, Letty, and Lotta argued over this most important question, Beatrice said to me, "I wonder what you intend to wear, Ursula. Not that perfectly hideous white and blue thing you seem so fond of, I hope?"

"It is the only suitable gown I have, my dear friend," I said firmly. "I see no need to make myself a new ball gown when nothing I wear can make me look prettier. Neither does my mother."

"Fustian!" exclaimed Beatrice, roused to action. "You will not go to this ball, over which I have expended much labor, looking like a dowd. I forbid it!"

Hero turned from her chattering and heartily agreed with her cousin.

"For," she said, in her girlish voice, "if you dressed more prettily, you will have a much better chance of not becoming an ape-leader."

"Hero!" gasped Beatrice. "Wherever did you learn such a vulgar expression?"

"Oh, I am sorry, Ursula. But Trix, I heard it from you! It was when you were going on one of your rants about how you meant never to marry."

"Never marry!" cried Letty. "What a horrid thought!"

"Not at all," replied Beatrice, in a much cooler tone. It amazed me how her moods could change so swiftly. "I am on my knees every morning and evening thanking God for sparing me from a husband."

"But why are you so set against men?" asked Lotta in bewilderment.

Beatrice stood up and flourished a hand. We all went silent, waiting in expectation of a witticism.

"Ladies," she began, in a tone of utmost gravity, "I could not endure a husband with a beard." And then she closed her mouth, leaving the rest of us rather puzzled at this cryptic statement.

"But," said Lotta at last, "beards are quite out of fashion, so whatever can you mean?"

"Let us suppose that we speak of men before they have shaved," offered Beatrice condescendingly. "Or perhaps, I should say, I could not endure a husband with side-whiskers."

"All right, then," said Hero. "Then suppose you could bring yourself to fancy a man with no beard, or side-whiskers, to shave."

"Ah! But what should I do with him? Dress him up as my abigail?" At this, Hero and Letty giggled, though Lotta still seemed confused. There was that brilliant sparkle in Beatrice's grey-green eyes as she went on.

"He that has a beard (or side-whiskers) is more than a youth, and he that has no beard (or side-whiskers) is less than a man. He that is more than a youth is not for me, but he that is less than a man-" She said the last words with great emphasis. "I am not for him."

I applauded, but told Beatrice I hoped to see her one day happily wed.

"No, Ursula," she answered, and there was now a touch of something more serious in her countenance. She gave me a hard smile. "Not until God make men of some other substance than earth." Her voice rose. "Would it not grieve a woman to be overmastered by a piece of valiant dust? To make an account of her life to a clod of dirt? No, ladies!" And as we all stared at her, she sat down again and laughed softly. "Adam's sons are my brethren, and I hold it sin to wed with my own kindred."


	10. The Fault Will be in the Music Beatrice

**Chapter Three: ** _The Fault Will Be in the Music_

**1**

**Beatrice**

I was true to my word, and did not let Ursula appear in her hideous ball gown. She had worn the same old thing to every ball in the past two years, and it was time it was put to pasture. Whatever induced her to even possess such a gown in the first place I cannot imagine, for she must know that a girl of her complexion must avoid white and pale blue at all costs. Since we were of a size, myself only an inch or two the taller, I lent her one of my gowns after taking up the hem a trifle. It was a simple gown of a deep burgundy that clashed abominably with my red hair, but it set off Ursula's mousy brown hair and indifferent complexion to admiration. Then I unpinned the stark, tight knot in which she always wore her hair, and plaited the straight locks into thick braids that I pinned in coils about her head. When I had done, she was not precisely pretty, but certainly passably good-looking. She thanked me gravely, but I saw the twinkle in her eye, and could tell that she thought my concern for her appearance a good joke.

I myself wore the deep golden gown that Hero so admired, and helped Hero into a charming pink confection. We all tied on our masks, and I thought, glancing around, that they didn't hide much. A mask didn't disguise Hero's short form or dark curls, and a mask didn't hide Letty's straight, flaxen hair forced into obviously contrived ringlets. I wondered just how many people wouldn't be able to recognize me by my red hair.

Uncle Leonard was awaiting us at the foot of the stairs, himself masked, and he complimented us on our beauty. Cousin Anthony, standing beside him, pretended that he couldn't for the life of him recognize any of us, and was shocked to hear us address him by his name.

"Oh, no, I am not Mr. Olden, or Cousin Anthony! Nobody but an ardent admirer of you beautiful, mysterious ladies."

Guests were arriving in a steady trickle, and I saw that my arrangements were a great success. Almost as soon as we entered the room, Hero was pounced upon by a gentleman in a blue coat. He very gallantly asked her to dance, in a tone of youthful eagerness, and I was at first certain of its being Lord Florce. But as Hero giggled and accepted his arm, I perceived that the gentleman was not tall enough or fair enough to be Claude. And when I saw Hero flirting atrociously with him, I knew it could not be Claude, for she would have been shy if it were. In any case, I was surprised to see Hero flirting at all. I daresay Letty or that maid of hers had encouraged her to do so.

"It is a lovely party, Beatrice," said Ursula at my elbow. I turned and smiled at her. As Letty and Lotta went off with partners, the two of us obtained seats at one end of the room and sat to watch the dancing. It was not long, however, before a gentleman dressed all in black approached us and asked me for the next dance.

I eyed him carefully. There was nothing in his appearance to give him away, but he spoke with a trace of an accent. This I took to be a disguise of some sort, for I knew no foreigners had been invited to Uncle Leonard's ball.

"Do go, my friend," said Ursula. I took the gentleman's hand, and he led me to the dance floor. To my surprise a waltz was struck up, and the gentleman lightly clasped my waist and took one of my hands in his. As soon as we began to dance, my suspicions were confirmed. There was only one man I knew who danced in just such a way, perfectly executing every step with a complete lack of grace.

"I wonder, ma'am, if you are acquainted with Miss Ponard?" he asked, and I realized that his affected accent was a Spanish one. I wondered what kind of trick he was up to; surely he could not think me such a fool as to not detect him!

"Why, of course," I replied in mock surprise. "Are not you? I would have supposed that everyone here must know her."

"I do not have that honor," he said. "But I have heard something of her that leads me to believe that it is an honor I would do better not to have."

"Whatever do you mean, sir? Has someone been slandering Miss Ponard to you?"

"Well, a gentleman here has told me that she is a lady of singularly ill wit," he said, and there was a gleam in his eye that made me want to strike him.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, and worse than that. But I would not wish to speak of it to a lady." It took great effort to give a charming laugh.

"I fear you have been hoodwinked, sir, and I know by whom. Evidently, you are a stranger in our midst, for Miss Ponard is universally liked in this neighborhood, and is, indeed, considered one of society's charms. There is only one who would say such things of her, and I beg you to take no account of him. Nobody else does."

I felt the hand at my waist tighten its clasp momentarily, and suspected that my partner was as desirous of hitting me as I was of hitting him.

"And why is that, ma'am? Who is this gentleman you speak of?"

"Oh, no gentleman at all, but merely the Duke of Donpedron's court jester. He goes by the name of Sir Benedict Pade, but his title is rather a joke. He thinks himself a great wit, but his only gift lies in devising slanders. All who know him laugh at him rather than at his jokes. I would he had partnered me, for I can think of a great many ways in which to bait him."

His face, or at least what I could see of it, had gone livid, and he for one moment lost his step. I thought that he was going to leave me on the dance floor as he had seven years before. But I did not think it would hurt so much this time. Yet he did not leave; he resumed his perfect dancing, and led me off the floor when the dance was over.

Ursula had evidently found a partner (I was not surprised, considering how well she was looking), for she was not where I had left her. Hero soon came running up to me, smiling and out of breath.

"Oh, I am having such a time, cuz!" she exclaimed, squeezing my hands. "Only fancy! That gentleman pretended to be Claude, although I knew all the time he was no such thing. In fact, I think it was the Duke! But he paid me the most extravagant compliments, and I pretended to be a dashing lady, and laughed and had so much fun! Trix, have you seen him? Claude, I mean?" Her voice had suddenly changed its tone to one of anxiety.

"No, love, but I daresay he's about somewhere. With the way you're behaving, I must say that I don't blame him for staying away from you. I wish you would stop acting like Letty Wagell!"

"Do you think so? Well, I shall be good, then."

And so she was. Though Donpedron continued to court her favor in the guise of Florce, Hero behaved very demurely for a time. I confess that I was much perplexed as to the duke's intentions. I had not hitherto suspected him of any partiality toward my cousin, and, although he was somewhat of a flirt, it was not in the duke's line to trifle with the affections of a silly girl. I forgot my encounter with Benedict Pade for a time, and focused my attention on this new, interesting situation.


	11. The Fault Will be in the Music Mr Thaste...

**2**

**Mr. Thaster**

I gazed at the mask lying on my dressing table rather severely. I felt like a fool, and knew the feeling would increase as soon as I put the thing on. Here I was, a man of forty years, and a masked ball was as much of a novelty to me as it was to Lotta Wagell, and the prospect probably disturbed me more than it did her. I experienced a strong desire to jump on my horse and gallop home to my comfortable house three and a half miles east of Messington.

When I was invited to Messington for the summer, I looked forward to an ordinary stay, the days full of hunting, playing at backgammon with the older gentlemen, and enjoying quiet, sensible conversation with such amiable people as Mr. Francis and Miss Wagell. I had played the part of a respectable gentleman for twenty years, and could hold my own in every normal social situation to be found in the life of a country neighborhood. But a masked ball was not a normal social situation, or at least, it was not in my opinion. For a man about town like Donpedron or Pade I suppose the case would be different. No doubt their lives were a veritable round of masked balls, such things being far more common in London than in the heart of Kent.

Reluctantly, I tied the mask on, and examined my countenance in the looking glass. I sighed. The mask did not make me appear any the less plain, and it made my ears look even bigger than they were. Large, prominent, ears are the curse of the Thasters. My sister Isabella had at least managed to hide hers by arranging her hair a certain way. There was no such luck for me.

When I arrived in the ballroom, it was already nearly full. I was at first heartened by this circumstance, rejoicing that I could go unnoticed. But then I was dismayed to realize that I couldn't recognize those friends with whom I had hoped to sit in comfortable conversation. So I resigned myself to dancing.

As the musicians struck up for the first dance, I asked for the company of the nearest lady I saw. This was a dark-haired young woman in a cream-colored gown, who accepted my hand and proceeded to flirt in a very vulgar manner for the whole of the dance. I sincerely hoped that the woman was a stranger, and was glad that I did not recognize her. Had I known her identity I would have felt compelled to drop a kind hint to her parents. As it was, I endured the dance as best I could, and obtained a new partner for the next set.

This next dance was a waltz, and, determined to improve my luck, I searched about me for a more demure-looking damsel. I espied a young lady in a burgundy gown sitting quietly by herself, and headed for her. She assented to dance, and made a very good partner. She was graceful and quiet, and quite pretty, from what I could see of her face. I began to revise my opinion of masked balls, but I was still rather annoyed that I could not discover who my fair partner was. Fortunately, she made a slip that led to just such a discovery. In answer to one of my dull comments, she replied to me by my name, and instantly looked dismayed.

"So you have found me out," I said. "May I ask how you did so?" She was reluctant to answer.

"It was my ears," I said resignedly, half-joking. I was answered with the delightful sound of a choked laugh, and an exclamation of, "Why, of course not, sir!"

"You'll have to tell me the real reason then, or I'll believe it was my ears until my dying day."

"Very well, sir. It was your coat. I have no intention of being rude; remember, you insisted. You see, you wear that coat to every ball in the neighborhood, just as I wear my blue and white gown- oh, dear." She looked dismayed again, and my eyes widened. It must surely be Miss Wagell!

"But you, Miss Wagell, had the intelligence not to wear the blue and white gown tonight," I managed to say. And as she smiled, I was further emboldened to remark, "And I must say that this new gown becomes you exceedingly well."

She blushed slightly, and I wondered at myself. It was purely ridiculous, a confirmed bachelor of my age to suddenly take to paying compliments to a pretty young woman.

"It is not a new gown," she confessed. "I was lent it by Miss Ponard, who forbade me to appear at her ball in the blue and white. So I can take no credit for intelligence."

By this time the dance had ended, and I asked Miss Wagell if she would like some punch. She expressed such a desire, and we headed together for the refreshment table. Then, armed with glasses, we seated ourselves on a settee, and conversed. I managed to refrain from any more compliments, for I knew they would serve only to make Miss Wagell uncomfortable. We spoke for some time on mundane subjects, as ever, but I found that I could not take my eyes off her face. I had always liked Ursula Wagell, even when she was in the schoolroom still, and perhaps I had even regarded her with affection. Yet I had ever considered her plain, like myself, a comfortable friend rather than a lovely woman. Maybe it was something in the punch, or maybe it was the candlelight reflected in her eyes, but that night my views on Miss Wagell underwent considerable alteration.

"Why do you think that that man over there stands so stiffly?" Miss Wagell asked, causing me to pry my eyes away from her. I focused on the object of her attention, a tall, fair man standing near the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He seemed to be staring at the dancers with disapproval, a frown fixed on his face.

"He seems a surly fellow," I replied. "Perhaps a rival is dancing with his beloved, and he is displaying his misery, in hopes that she might relent toward him."

"That is a possibility," said Miss Wagell with a slight frown. I wondered if she guessed who the man was, and cast him a second glance. He could have been one of several people I knew. I noted that his clothes were particularly fine and his golden hair carefully groomed, and the notion of his being Lord Florce occurred to me. I then recalled that at one time, several years ago in fact, Mrs. Wagell had attempted a match between Claude Fotheringay and her eldest daughter. Also I remembered that Miss Wagell had shown a degree of liking for young Fotheringay; secrets are hard to keep in a country neighborhood. Turning to observe Miss Wagell's wrinkled brow, I asked myself if she might be experiencing pain on his behalf. But then she smiled again and remarked how silly young men could be.

"For he should know," she observed, "that such behavior would only encourage the lady in question to flirt even more with other men."

"Should he?" I asked in some amusement, relieved to see the cloud lift from her face.

"Why, of course," she stated. "In what way would it please a lady to see her suitor behaving so sorely simply because she chose to dance with another?"

"I have not thought much on the subject," I admitted. She laughed.

"To be sure, why should you do so? It cannot concern you in the least. Have you heard from your sister at all lately?"

I answered in kind, and tried to rid myself of the conviction that Miss Wagell viewed me as an old man.


	12. The Fault Will be in the Music Claude

**3**

**Claude**

I was uneasy about the Duke's idea, but he was so much more knowing about these things than I was. Perhaps I should have mustered the courage to court Hero myself; heaven knows I wanted to, but I might very well have made a mull of it.

In any case, I began to regret taking the Duke's advice as soon as I saw him lead Hero to the dance. I recognized them both instantly, for the Duke had told me what he would be wearing, and I could make out Hero's form anywhere. I stood nearby, watching their every move. The Duke was being very gallant, I could tell, and Hero seemed to be welcoming all his attentions. I tried to fool myself into believing that Hero really did take Donpedron for myself, but I could not think her so stupid. And after all, why should she think such a thing? I had barely spoken five sentences to her since arriving at Messington, due to my cursed shyness. With anyone else I could hold a conversation charmingly, but when I looked at Hero my tongue tied itself in a knot. She was so thoroughly adorable, and I could not conceive how I never should have noticed it before. And the match would be such a good one if I could manage it; my relations would be pleased by her fortune, and I'm sure Lord Messington would look well on my position. I knew that it was meant to be.

Yet here I was, standing by a wall, gazing on as Hero received the admiration of another. I began to wonder just what Donpedron was about. He seemed to be enjoying himself far too much for one so hardened a bachelor. The Duke was like a father to me; I had ever trusted him and considered him my best friend, excepting Benedict only. The idea that perhaps he could betray that trust was a new one, but it instantly took hold. It was so obvious. Of course, Donpedron wanted Hero for himself (who wouldn't?), and had tricked me out of trying to win her for myself!

All these thoughts were flying through my head as I watched the dancing. After what seemed like a dozen dances, the couple parted, and Hero went to her cousin. It was about time, too! What did Hero mean, dancing all that time with one man? I wonder that her father allowed it, for it was most improper. Then Hero danced with several gentlemen whom I did not recognize, and her behavior improved. Evidently, it was only the Duke with whom she was so spirited.

At last I could stand it no longer. I went into an adjoining room where card tables had been set up. I was invited to one of the tables and sat down to play a half-hearted game. One of the other players was Arragon; he had put off his mask, deeming it an unneccesarry trifle, I suppose. He mistakenly addressed me as Sir Benedict, and I answered him as such, not really caring what I was called. We played for half an hour, myself continually the loser.

"Your game is bad tonight, Sir Benedict," said Arragon as he revealed a winning hand. I made an answer that was something like a grunt.

"You were out in the ball room earlier, Sir Benedict," he went on. "I wonder, did you notice the behavior of my brother? I thought it most remarkable."

This was like him, to make pointless observations in a monotone. It was his idea of conversation.

"You mean his attention to Lady Hero, I suppose?" I replied in as cool a voice as I could manage, trying to emulate Benedict's tone. "Yes, I noticed it. It was very marked."

"Perhaps as his friend, you could drop a word of warning in his ear," said Arragon, not looking at me, but at his cards. "Lady Hero is a most estimable girl, but a Duke of Donpedron can look as high as he chooses for a wife."

My first impulse was to deliver a blow to that faintly smiling face, but I controlled myself. This was a confirmation of my worst fears. It was obvious even to Arragon that Donpedron was in a way to having intentions for Hero. I was a lost man. I stood up and excused myself, returning to the ballroom.

I was almost immediately arrested in my tracks by a young lady in a cream-colored gown who smiled up at me and asked if I was going to supper with the others. When I told her that I wasn't, she tried to cajole me, but I simply let her rattle on without making any response. Eventually she went off in search of another supper partner, and I found my way to the empty billiard room and brooded.

Here I was found an hour later by Benedict. He came striding into the room, exclaiming, "There you are, you worthless young pup! The trouble I've been put to trying to find you, and here you are, sitting in the dark on a billiard table!" He pulled my arm and began to drag me out into the hall.

"You needn't thank me for rescuing you from your temporary lapse of sanity. And you needn't thank the Duke for winning your Hero, but you should anyway, for he is quite proud of his accomplishment."

"I wish him joy of her," I said darkly. He stopped and turned to look at me.

"Very nicely put," he approved. "Yet somehow I think it inappropriate for the occasion. You really ought to practice the art of conversation a bit more, my dear Claude." Then his tone became serious. "Do you truly think Donpedron would have served you such a turn as that?"

"Let me alone, Benedict," I answered. But he resumed his dragging activities, and I was too well-mannered to shout. I started to devise cruel and unusual punishments for Benedict in my mind as he pulled me into the now nearly empty supper room.


	13. The Fault Will be in the Music Benedict

**4**

**Benedict**

What a hideous evening that was! I always recall it with a shudder. If I had a choice between reliving the all the bloodiest battles of my career and reliving that ball, I would choose the former without hesitation.

I spotted Miss Ponard the instant she came into the room. With that wretched red hair of hers (and it is red, not auburn, as some say), there was no point in her wearing a mask. What she needed was one of those things that nuns wear on their heads. I hadn't actually seen a nun before, but I'd seen pictures of them in my mother's enormous and lavishly illustrated _Lives of the Saints_. She was wearing a golden gown too, one of the colors that makes her hair look even more like carrots. Though, to do her justice, she is one of the few females I have ever met who could carry off wearing that particular shade.

With her was a dab of a thing in pink, probably Lady Hero, who was instantly claimed by Donpedron. I knew what he was about; he had confided his whole delightful scheme to me over the billiard table early in the afternoon. I felt grateful that it was Claude who was the victim of the Duke's kindness and not myself, so I didn't say much about it. Claude, who was standing beside me, watched the proceedings glumly for a minute before taking his post by the wall. Sickening.

I had concocted a scheme for my own entertainment hours before the ball, and now proceeded to execute it. It fell very much awry. Instead of making Beatrice Ponard furious, my words seemed to give her a source of ammunition, for she slandered my character in a way that I can only term vulgar. Who did she think she was, an actress on the common stage? She was surely more fit for the stage than for a respectable house such as Messington Manor. Why on earth did the Earl suffer her presence?

Well, after escaping the harpy's clutches, I wandered about the ballroom looking for a worthier companion. I dislike dancing, but there was little else to do. So I squired a succession of dull damsels, and had a pretty rotten evening. It was not until supper that things began to look interesting. The young lady in blue whom I had intended to escort to the supper room somehow vanished, and I had to make do with a girl in a cream-colored gown who had failed to catch Claude's attention. She managed to pounce upon me as I watched the boy stalk out of the ball room, but I didn't really care. One girl was much the same as another.

The dark-haired girl chattered on incessantly, but I mainly ignored her. I was too busy watching the interesting proceedings of Donpedron. He had escorted Lady Hero into supper, and was flirting outrageously with her. Lady Hero, to my surprise, was not being as encouraging as she had when they were dancing. Beatrice Ponard and her unknown squire sat opposite the couple, and Beatrice seemed to be endeavoring to avert Donpedron's attention to herself, with Hero's fullest encouragement. An odd situation; not odd that Beatrice Ponard should wish herself to be the center of attention, but odd that Lady Hero should be so ready to oblige. From what I had observed, Lady Hero's demureness was entirely an act that she put on at will, and in spite of her affection for her cousin, it was unlikely that she should give up a suitor to her.

After supper was eaten, there was the unmasking. Before this juncture my partner managed to escape, a circumstance that did not astonish me greatly. From her vulgar manner, I easily deduced that she was one of the maids dressed up. Everybody gasped and clapped at the unmasking, quite a silly thing to do when there had really been very little mystery about anyone. The greatest surprise to me was that the pretty lady in the burgundy gown was none other than Ursula Wagell. And when I saw the way Thaster was looking at her, I nearly threw up my hands in despair. Love in the air, forsooth! I had at least thought Thaster to be a hardened bachelor, but my fellow men were surely created to disappoint me.

Well, the revelers dispersed for more dancing, and I was about to go out with the crowd when Donpedron grabbed my arm. He dragged me to where Lady Hero, Miss Ponard, and the Earl were standing in a small circle, and asked my congratulations.

"You will be glad to know, my friend, that I have secured Lord Messington's blessing on our Claude's desire to pay his addresses to Lady Hero," the Duke announced in a grandiose manner.

"It is a pity our Claude couldn't secure Lord Messington's blessing himself, my friend," I replied. Miss Ponard sniffed, but I did not deign to look at her. Donpedron laughed, and the Earl smiled as if he knew I had said something witty but didn't quite understand what it was.

"The problem is, Benedict, that Claude seems to be missing. Will you fetch him for us? I am sure you are the most capable person."

"I am yours to command, Lord Duke," I said with an exaggerated bow, and I fled the harpy's presence as if my feet had wings. It took me a good ten minutes of searching to find the missing Viscount, but it was a job well done.

"I have found the prodigal, Your Grace, and now present him to you. Notice that he is in high fettle, having the appearance of one seething with cold fury at an injustice done to him. I should liken him to a schoolboy, who, overjoyed at finding a bird's nest, shows it to his friend, and the friend steals it." And I clapped Claude heartily on the back. Claude simply stood there, steadfastly not gazing at Hero. Then Beatrice Ponard came into play as Donpedron sought fit words for the occasion.

"Are you quite well, Lord Florce?" she asked in a voice dripping with fake innocence. How could anyone stand it?

"Quite well, I thank you, Miss Ponard."

"But your spirits seemed depressed. Are you troubled in mind?"

"No, not at all, Miss Ponard."

"Well, then!" she exclaimed. "Lord Florce is neither sick nor troubled, but I must say that he is very civil. And rather green in complexion."

"Very clever," I could not help saying, "Though not one of your best efforts, I think, Miss Ponard." Her eyes flashed, but she replied sweetly,

"I am grateful for your opinions, but you may as well keep them. I am not likely to be downcast by criticism from a dull fool."

I opened my mouth to reply but was intercepted by the Duke. "Oh, do keep your tongue, Benedict, we have an important matter to discuss. My dear Claude, do not be so downcast. I have wooed in your name, and fair Hero is won. I have broached the matter with Lord Messington, and obtained his good will. Only name the day of the marriage, and God give you joy!"

What a speech! Lord Messington looked a trifle startled; I wondered if he had really given his consent to a marriage in the near future, but he evidently had no intention of correcting Donpedron. Lady Hero was beaming, and Miss Ponard, after a covert glare at the Duke, became all smiles. Florce was awestruck, simply gazing down at his puny love, unable to say anything. It was perfectly disgusting. The Earl broke the silence by shaking Claude's hand vigorously and wishing him all the joy in the world, and said he couldn't wish for a better son-in-law. I nearly laughed at that, for I was fairly certain that Lord Messington had wished the Duke to be his son-in-law. What a horrid trick Donpedron had played him, to be sure!

"Speak, my lord, it is your cue," said Miss Ponard to the tongue-tied Claude. He gulped and smiled faintly, taking Hero's hands in his.

"Silence is the best herald of joy," he managed. "I cannot speak the words to say how happy I am." Nevertheless, he managed to speak anyway. "Lady Hero, as you are mine, I am yours, your humble servant." The girl blushed furiously, but kept her mouth closed. I suspected that if it opened, we would all be regaled with a squeal of glee.

"Oh, cuz, do say something," said the harpy in a weary tone. Well, I suppose there was at least one other person in the room who found this couple rather tiresome. "Or if you cannot, stop his mouth with a kiss and let him be silent, too." More blushing, but Claude bent to softly kiss the child, and she made no protest. At this point my emotions threatened to overcome me, and I left the supper room.


	14. We are the Only Love Gods Donpedron

Thanks so much for all the positive reviews! They were very encouraging! I hope I'll have time to work some more on this soon. Queen Eleni

**Chapter Four: _We are the Only Love-Gods_**

**1**

**Donpedron**

I was by far too pleased with myself to worry over Benedict's fit of the dismals, and I let him go in peace. But I am not a fool, whatever some may say, and I took notice of the way he became very edgy whenever he was in Beatrice Ponard's presence. Now that my work with Claude and Lady Hero was done, I could move on to a much more interesting activity.

Miss Ponard was looking thoughtfully at her cousin and Claude, a somewhat inscrutable look in her face. After several moments, she smiled and walked to where I was standing with her uncle.

"A triumph, Your Grace," she said, dropping me a curtsey. "You see how it is; my bashful little cousin stands there whispering sweet nothings into his lordship's ear."

"So she does," said Claude over his shoulder, before bending to reciprocate his love's words. Miss Ponard picked up her nearly empty glass of champagne and held it up.

"To marriage!" she declared before taking a sip. "And thus goes the world, and all its maidens, myself excepted. I may sit in a corner and cry for a husband."

I did not find her words unbecoming, though I would have thought them a trifle fast in any other female. The thing is, Beatrice Ponard was perfectly entrancing, and one could not condemn anything she said, for she always said it with such style. It was a shame that such a woman should become an old maid; I had to repress a shudder at the thought.

"Miss Ponard, I will get you one. You see how well I could manage it," I said.

"Oh, I would take you, if I could have another husband for the mornings," she replied, with a twinkle in her eyes. "Your Grace would be too elegant for everyday use."

"My dear!" protested Lord Messington, his eyes bulging a trifle.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," apologized Beatrice serenely, but the twinkle was still there. "I was born to speak all mirth and no matter."

"Miss Ponard, your silence most offends me. To laugh most becomes you. Surely, you must have been born under a merry star. The same star as Benedict was born under, I should think."

"No," she said, the twinkle leaving her eyes. "No. How should it be so? He was born a good seven years before myself, and not on the same date. So the stars couldn't have been the same, could they? I really should go back to the ballroom, I'm neglecting my duties as hostess shamefully." She curtsied to me, kissed both Hero and Claude, and left. I looked after her speculatively. Lady Hero and Claude finally stopped their whisperings, and I walked to them, beckoning the Earl to follow me.

"When shall you marry, my boy?" I inquired, although I really wasn't thinking about that matter.

"Tommorow if I could," promptly returned Claude.

"No, no, we must have the bans out, and the bride clothes bought, and a great many preparations," said Lord Messington. "It will be a month at least."

"Oh, Papa, no!" cried Lady Hero, casting her arms about her father. "A whole month! You may as well say a whole year!"

"Hero, you haven't even had a Season yet!" expostulated the Earl.

"You could get a special license," I remarked absently, only to have a pair of glowing brown eyes turned in awe upon me.

"That's just it!" cried Hero. "Oh, Papa, we must get a special license, and then we can be married in a week!" More protests ensued, but by the time I had worked out my plan, the date had been set for the following Sunday, the Earl promising to send someone to fetch the license from London the following day.

"Still, a whole week," sighed Claude, exchanging a long and loving look with his lady. "The time will go on crutches."

"No, Claude," I interposed here, "The time will not go dully by. I have devised a plan for your amusement. We- myself, yourself, Lady Hero, and Lord Messington- shall undertake one of Hercules' labors."

"And what is that?" asked Claude.

"Why, what else, but to bring Benedict and Beatrice into a mountain of passion, each for the other!" Lord Messington gasped, and Hero clapped her hands and squealed.

"Your Grace," said the Earl, his eyes shining, "I am all for your scheme, for it is time that my niece settled down. But how? They hate each other so entirely!"

"I know how; it will be very easy if I have your aid. Especially yours, Lady Hero. Are you all three willing?"

"Yes!" was the resounding answer.


	15. We are the Only Love Gods Hero

**2**

**Hero**

I went to my room that night (or more accurately, that morning) in a dream of happiness that was clouded only by Trixie's sudden grumpiness. As we undressed, I poured all my joy into her ears, to which she listened with a smile. It was only when I told her of the impending wedding that her mood changed.

"Can my uncle have consented to this?" she exclaimed. "What madness is this? Hero, he only this night asked permission for your hand, and you have been with him but a few days!"

"I don't need any more time, Trix," I explained. "We love each other so desperately that any longer of a wait would be a punishment." Beatrice pursed her lips and came to sit on the edge of my bed.

"Now, Hero," she said in that grown-up manner of hers that I didn't always appreciate. "Please reconsider. The saying goes, 'Marry in haste, repent at leisure.' You barely know Claude. The time you spent together as children does not count. You ought both of you to have the time to know each other better."

"You don't understand, Trixie," I said, "for you have no notion what it is like to be so much in love." And I was sure that she did not understand, whatever Meg may have said about her feelings for Sir Benedict, for toward men her heart was very cold.

"Child, don't be so silly!" she said in exasperation. "What do you know of what I know? In any case, at least be practical! We cannot hold a wedding here at a week's notice! Consider all the arrangements that will have to be made."

I was somewhat hurt by this. It made me feel that worrying over household arrangements was of greater importance to Trix than my being in love. She seemed happy enough for me, but still regarded me as a silly child.

"Papa will see to all of that," I said a little crossly. "Good-night!"

I was of course very eager to see what the Duke's plan was, for making Trix fall head over ears in love with Sir Benedict seemed somehow a very suitable revenge for her churlishness. The next day, soon after waking, I went out to the gardens with Claude as my escort.

Strolling along the garden paths with him was my greatest bliss. We did not speak much, but merely enjoyed each other's company. I could not get over how handsome he was, truly god-like, and so kind and considerate of me as well. With my arm in his I could not have asked for a greater joy.

We were to meet the Duke and my father near the rose garden, and soon came upon them in earnest conversation. My father seemed a bit befuddled, but he was grinning hugely. As we approached, the Duke leaped up and bowed to me, handing me to a seat on the stone bench.

"Ah, Lady Hero, Claude, you are here at last! I wonder why you took so long merely to walk to the rose garden?" He winked at my father, who laughed jovially in return. "Now, on to matters of business. I must reveal to you my plan."

Then the Duke explained his plan. It consisted of tricking Sir Benedict that Beatrice was in love with him, while at the same time tricking Beatrice into believing that Sir Benedict was in love with her. I instantly saw the merit of the scheme, although my father had to be convinced by the rest of us. He didn't seem to think that believing oneself to be the beloved made any difference in reciprocating that love. He thought Beatrice, as she hated Benedict so much, would be disgusted to learn of his love for her.

"You cannot expect Beatrice to do what appears to be sensible," I told my father, "for, depend upon it, she is as unreasonable in her loves as in her hatreds. I think it will work excellently. Now, tell me, Your Grace, what is my part in this?"

"Your part is to work upon your cousin," replied Donpedron. "Miss Ponard must somehow overhear you discussing Sir Benedict's love for her. Perhaps you can enlist the aid of one of your young friends?" Instantly, I began to think of how to accomplish the task. I sat pondering on the bench while the gentlemen discussed their part of the plan. They would trick Sir Benedict, all three of them conversing on the subject of Beatrice's love for him while he was nearby. How to lure him in was the subject of their discussion; and when they had hit upon just how to do it, I had thought up my own scheme. Claude escorted me back to the house at my request. I had to find Ursula.

It took some coercing to obtain Ursula's participation. When I first disclosed to her the scheme, she seemed much shocked.

"Hero, I cannot conceive why the Duke should take it into his head to do so improper a thing," she said with a frown, "but, I assure you, you are more likely to harm your cousin in this than you are to help her."

"No, why? You are thinking, perhaps, that Sir Benedict would not make her a good husband. I must own, I did wonder about that myself, but Claude has told be of how good a man Sir Benedict truly is, and I am now quite certain that they will deal famously!"

"That is not my worry," said Ursula, with a slight smile. "I'm sure that Sir Benedict would make Beatrice a good husband. But she should have a husband of her choosing, not of yours."

"Oh, Ursula, you know how she is! Left to herself, she will never wed!"

"Well, and suppose she does not wish to?"

"Of course she wishes to!" I stated rather scornfully. "Every woman does! And I think she wants to marry Sir Benedict. After all, she was engaged to him once."

This made Ursula look at me sharply. "You know of that, do you?"

"Yes, Trix told me so herself. Oh, Ursula, I thought you were so very sensible, and that you would help me to accomplish what all her friends must desire!"

Ursula was silent for a few minutes, her brows drawn together as if she were in deep thought. Finally, she said, "Hero, I suppose you are going to go forward with this no matter what I say or do?"

"Yes, I shall," I said determinedly. "It is for her own good, and she will one day thank me for it. That is, if she ever finds out that it was a trick." A suspicion crossed my mind. "Ursula, you would not tell her, would you? That would be horrid of you!"

"I wonder if I should," she remarked. She looked at me seriously. "Hero, I will help you. I do think that, if she loves Sir Benedict, she should have the chance to realize it. If they already love each other, the scheme would merely induce them to admit it. But I warn you, if the plan fails, and if pain is caused on either side, I will have no scruples in revealing the truth to my friend."

"It shan't fail! Oh, thank you, Ursula!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands together. "Now we shall do!"

"I hope so," was Ursula's only reply.


	16. We are the Only Love Gods Mr Thaster

**3**

**Mr. Thaster**

That evening, when we were all gathered in the drawing room after dinner, the Duke produced a sheaf of papers and asked Miss Ponard if she would be willing to perform a song that he had procured when he was in town.

"I am very fond of music," he said, "but I have no talent. I brought it down here with me in the hopes that one of the ladies would oblige. One does here so much of your powers of voice, Miss Ponard, and I'm sure you would not deny me the privilege of hearing you sing."

"Of course, Your Grace," said Miss Ponard, rising from her seat, and taking the music from his hand. "My powers of voice, however, are not very great, and sadly out of practice."

Sir Benedict Pade, with whom I had been conversing, muttered under his breath, "False modesty, how ill it becomes her!"

I found this a rather interesting comment, but was unable to question Sir Benedict further, as my attention was drawn back to Miss Ponard. Reading the title of the piece, a definite frown had run across her face. She said, in a bland tone, "I know this piece well. I think Your Grace will be disappointed in it."

"No, indeed, I am sure I will not," said the Duke with a dazzling smile. "I insist, Miss Ponard!"

"Very well," said Miss Ponard resignedly. A thought occurred to her. "Mr. Thaster, perhaps you would accompany me? It really is a song meant for two to sing, and I cannot think of another gentleman here who sings so well as you."

There was barbed emphasis on her last sentence, but I had no idea what it meant. All I knew was that I did not want to sing in front of all these people, or with a lady who seemed so very put out. But I could not think of a polite way to refuse. Besides, I had known Miss Ponard long enough to be sure that no means I might employ were capable of thwarting her will.

"If you like, Miss Ponard," was therefore my reply. She seated herself at the pianoforte and I stood behind her, wondering what was so offensive about the song. Her fingers began to press the ivory keys, and our voices flowed together in harmony. It sounded very well, my tenor complementing her soprano; the tune was pleasant, and the words amusing, if somewhat archaic.

"Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea, and one on shore,

To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your songs of woe

Into hey nonny, nonny.

"Sing no more ditties, sing no more,

Of dumps so dull and heavy;

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy.

Then sigh not so,

But let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your songs of woe

Into hey nonny, nonny."

When we had finished, I looked up and observed that Sir Benedict's face had gone pale and that he was struggling to control some strong emotion. A glance at Miss Ponard's face showed that she was similarly inconvenienced. I began to put two and two together, making four. Then, as I returned to my seat, I took note of the smiles of satisfaction on the faces of Donpedron, Lord Florce, and Messington, and the look of pure glee on Lady Hero's countenance. Lady Conrad seemed amused, Horace Conrad bored, Arragon pensive, and Miss Wagell concerned. The rest seemed to find nothing extraordinary in the entertainment. But I knew that something significant must have occurred, something that revolved around the tense relationship of Beatrice Ponard and Benedict Pade.

After the ladies had retired to bed, Sir Benedict instantly excused himself, saying that he was unusually tired. I saw an exchange of meaning glances between the Duke, Earl, and Viscount, and, when they similarly excused themselves not long after, my suspicions that something was afoot were increased. I hoped that somebody would eventually let me into the mystery.


	17. We are the Only Love Gods Benedict

**4**

**Benedict**

I left that room as soon as I could, for if I had continued to fulminate, I should have ended by planting His Grace a facer. How he had learned of the significance of that song I did not care, but I was sure that he knew. It was too pointed a gesture to be a coincidence. It was the song that Beatrice and I had often sung together during our short-lived engagement; it was the first song I had ever heard her sing, when her gorgeous voice had first mesmerized me. And furthermore, it was the song whose condemning lyrics she had written into her letter breaking our engagement. To hear her singing it again, even with her voice shadowed by Thaster's, stirred up emotions that I had so determinedly repressed, and the chief of these emotions was anger.

So I had to escape. Not to bed, but out into the garden to smoke a cigarillo. I hoped that it would help to calm my nerves. I gradually began to think more rationally; I admitted to myself that, by her manner, it was highly unlikely that the harpy had been a part of the plan for my discomfiture. In fact, she had seemed very irritated herself.

I had begun to dwell on the fact that she sang as beautifully as ever, when I heard a door open, and saw a ray of light emanating from the house. I moved behind a hedge, and saw that Donpedron, Claude, and the Earl were coming into the garden, talking rather loudly. I decided to listen in on the conversation. I was in no mood for conversing, and I thought that they fully deserved to be eavesdropped upon. So I better concealed myself behind the hedge, and put out my cigarillo. They moved closer, and I could now hear them perfectly.

"Yes, she did seem to be most upset by it," said the Duke. "I had no intention, my dear Messington, of so distressing your niece, I do assure you. I did not know it would have such an effect on her."

"Ah, Your Grace, how could you know?" sighed the Earl. "It was an unlucky chance that you hit upon just that piece. I must tell you why it so upset her. I remember it well, though it was all of seven years ago. When she was engaged to Sir Benedict, the pair of them were very fond of that song."

"Well, that would explain the sour look on Benedict's face as well," said Claude. So it seemed that the Duke had not known about the song. This, I must say, sounded a trifle unlikely, but I could not be sure that he wasn't speaking the truth. In any case, what reason had he to lie?

"It does explain a great deal," acknowledged Donpedron. "As they now hate each other so entirely, it is no wonder that such memories as must have been conjured up should disgruntle them."

"I wish that were it, Your Grace," said the Earl. "Yet I know that there is more to it than that. I fear that my niece still tenders feeling for Sir Benedict, and that the song gave her acute anguish."

I was still registering this remarkable statement when both the Duke and Florce made expostulations of disbelief. I stopped listening for a minute, too distracted by the leap in my heart and the tangle of confusion in my brain. Beatrice still loved me? It was an idea very hard to grasp.

"Oh, yes, my daughter has told me all," went on the Earl as I struggled to recover my wits. "Hero tells me that her cousin has wept herself to sleep every night since Sir Benedict's arrival, and that she sometimes cries out his name in the night."

My word.

"Is it so, indeed?" said the Duke in all astonishment. "For such a lively lady to be reduced to such grief is a shocking thing."

"Yes, Your Grace, so it is, and I wish there were some way to alleviate her pain. But my daughter tells me that Beatrice refuses to speak of it with her, and resists all consolation. It seems she has no hope."

"Perhaps," said His Grace, "one should tell Benedict of this matter. Surely it must move him. He is not, I think, indifferent to Miss Ponard."

"Oh, no, Your Grace!" exclaimed Claude in some alarm. "You cannot have thought! Only consider all the things he has so unashamedly said about the lady in question. Surely it would be the worst of crimes to expose her to such scorn."

"Do you truly think he could be so cruel?" mused the Duke. I was indignant at Claude's words, and wanted to shout out and discredit him. But I held my peace. What would they say next?

"Your Grace knows what a scourge he is of women, and of my cousin-to-be in particular," said Claude. "He is a good fellow, of course, but you must admit that he is proud. Far too proud to relent in his manner toward Beatrice. And far too fond of a jest to refrain from tormenting her on the slightest provocation. What do you think, Lord Messington?"

"Oh, I can have no opinion, my dear boy. He is your friend, not mine. But I do well recall how ill he treated my niece during their former engagement. I would not trust him with the care of her heart again!"

"I suppose you are right," sighed Donpedron. "I had thought it would be such a fine thing for him, too. He could not find a better woman upon whom to bestow his hand and heart. But he is too hard-hearted a man."

"Yes, Your Grace, for all her spirit, she's as good and affectionate and sensible a girl as ever lived," said the Earl. "I am greatly disturbed by this hopeless despair of hers."

"She will endure it, I am sure," said Donpedron. "We must hope that she shall overcome it. I would marry her myself if I thought she would affect me."

"It grows chill. We should not be standing out here, talking of such dreary matters," said Claude. The gentlemen then slowly walked back to the house.

I realized that I had for some time been holding my breath, and I let it out, feeling almost faint as I did so. I came out of my hiding place and found a bench to sit upon. My thoughts were so tangled that I could only make one thing out: Beatrice still loved me! It was some minutes before I got beyond this fact and began to sort out just why I was so elated by it.

They had called me cruel and hard-hearted, supposing that I could not feel love for her. Some friends! They knew me so little, and did not see behind the airs I put on. No, they did not know me at all. Their low estimation of my powers of affection irked me; what right had they to pass judgement on me for something they obviously knew so little about? Perhaps I had been cruel to Beatrice in the past, but they knew nothing of the circumstances, how she had provoked me, how-

I had to stop myself there. There would be no more of that, blaming Beatrice for what had happened. No, things were going to be different now. I would not continue to hurt her, as Claude had so confidently supposed I would. The knowledge that she loved me forced me to admit to myself that I still loved her. And I fully intended to let her know of it.

Benedict, the married man? Why not? It would be folly to shun the only thing that could ever content me in order to maintain my reputation as a misogynist. Man was made to marry, after all, and why should I be any different? Let them laugh, I was going to be as lovesick for Beatrice as ever man was for a woman!


	18. We are the Only Love Gods Arragon

**5**

**John Arragon**

Really, my poor stupid brother needed a new hobby. Matchmaking was simply not for him. Oh, yes, he had managed to get his moonstruck viscount engaged to the pretty little heiress in spite of me, but he would regret it. Perhaps that scheme of mine had failed, but it had produced seeds of doubt in Lord Florce's mind, doubt about his sweetheart's sense of fidelity and doubt about the strength of friendship. Should he be attacked on this ground again, but in fuller force, I predicted a tragic end to this romantic interlude. The couple, already so precipitously betrothed, should have no time to develop mutual trust before I thrust a bar in their way.

As for my lord Duke's latest game, I saw no need to meddle. Yes, I could tell that he was brewing a match between his depressingly witty soldier and the red-headed witch, a match not likely to bring anybody pleasure. My interference was entirely unnecessary; I was certain that the pair would continue to jab at each other whether they were engaged or not. Nothing my brother could do would serve to make such people happier.

Boracton informed me, later that night, of his relationship with Lady Hero's maid. It seemed that he had quickly developed a flirtation with this girl, Meg, and he assured me that he could get her to agree to any scheme for mischief. Have I mentioned what an invaluable servant Boracton is?

"You mean to say, I suppose," I mused, as I lounged in my bed that evening, "that should I require her-er-participation, I can count on you to persuade her?"

"Yes, sir," said Boracton as he neatly laid out my clothes for the next day. "She is a very silly girl, and not particularly scrupulous."

"Lady Hero's bedchamber has a balcony, does it not?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, the bedchamber that she shares with Miss Ponard has a balcony facing onto the gardens."

"Ah. Are you averse to climbing a ladder, or perhaps a trellis, my good Boracton?"

"Not at all, sir, if you require me to do so."

"I may. This Meg, of course, has access to this bedchamber?" A plan was forming in my mind. It was somewhat risky, but a villain must take risks.

"I believe so, sir. And I daresay she could make her way onto the balcony after her mistress had gone to bed."

"You relieve my mind of its care. Go to bed."


	19. Loving Goes by Haps Ursula

**Chapter Five: _Loving Goes By Haps_**

**1**

**Ursula**

I was very uneasy about my part in "trapping" Beatrice. She was, after all, a good friend of mine, perhaps the best friend I had. For some reason I do not know, when she came to live at Messington seven years before, she had chosen me as her confidante. She had entrusted me with the story of her dealings with Sir Benedict Pade, not with the laughing scorn that characterized her public manner, but seriously. I knew a side of her that she let few people see, the vulnerable side that felt things deeply. In return for her trust, I had trusted her with the few mundane secrets I had, such as my childish adoration of Lord Florce.

By entering upon Lady Hero's scheme, I was putting my friendship in jeopardy. If things turned out wrongly, Beatrice would be furious with me, that I knew. I have never been one to behave deceitfully, and so I was amazed at my own boldness in agreeing to trick my dear friend. Yet I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do. I strongly suspected that Beatrice still loved Benedict, and that he loved her. And I was certain that if left to their own devices neither would ever admit it. By aiding Hero, I believed that I was furthering Beatrice's happiness. I would never have agreed to it had this not been chiefly in my mind.

But I will be thoroughly honest. Besides the consideration of Beatrice's happiness was the prospect of amusement.

"How are we to have her overhear us?" Lady Hero mused aloud. The two of us were seated in the garden, concocting our plan. "I am at a loss as to how we shall manage."

_Good heavens_, I thought, _what would Hero have done if I had refused to help her?_ Aloud I said, "We must tempt her with the knowledge that we are discussing her." Hero looked bewildered. I explained further. "Perhaps we could put your maid to use. She can hint in passing to Beatrice that you and I are strolling in the garden and are discussing her affairs. You know she will instantly take it into her head to spy on us."

"Oh, that is perfect!" Hero clapped her hands and the pucker in her brow vanished. "And setting Meg onto her would be grand, for it is just the sort of thing that would irritate Trix to no end!"

So Lady Hero sent for her maid and delivered her instructions, which were added to by my more detailed commands. Meg's eyes twinkled and I felt an uneasy pang. Meg was just the sort of stupid girl who delighted in intrigue and would be happiest when making fools out of her social superiors. I wouldn't have put it past her to deliberately mess up her orders if it would amuse her. I thoroughly mistrusted that gleam in her eyes, but Hero apparently saw nothing to give her alarm and she must have known the girl far better than I possibly could. As it turned out, my fears on this ground at least were groundless, for Meg carried out our instructions to the letter. Only five minutes after sending the maid off, I spotted a figure entering the gardens.

I immediately turned to Lady Hero and began to talk.


	20. Loving Goes by Haps Beatrice

**2**

**Beatrice**

I spent that morning in the library, curled up in my favorite chair, reading an interesting novel called _Sense and Sensibility_. It had come out several years before, and this was my second time reading it. I am not overly given to novel reading, for I find the typical fainting heroines and simpering heroes rather nauseating, but novels are good for distracting the mind, and this particular novel was something quite above Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. Still, I was having a hard time concentrating on the trials of the Dashwood sisters, and my eyes stared at the text without absorbing any of it.

My mind was in something of a quandary. Last night, Benedict Pade had behaved in the most unaccountable manner. We all of us were gathered in the drawing room before dinner, excepting that man, who was nowhere to be found. So, instead of summoning a servant to look for him, my uncle Leonard suggested that he might be in the gardens and that I should go to bid him come to dinner. If it had been anyone else making the suggestion, I should have instantly refused, but I could hardly show my uncle such disrespect in front of our guests. So I repressed a retort and meekly left the drawing room.

Benedict Pade was indeed in the gardens. I found him contemplating a stand of azaleas while puffing on a cigar. I stopped several yards away and said, in a tone that indicated my complete disgust with the world and those who dwelt therein, "Against my will I am sent to bid you come in to dinner."

I then turned and began walking away, but stopped short when I heard him say, "I thank you for taking such pains," in a voice of what sounded like forced gravity. I twirled around and looked at him searchingly. He was perfectly serious. There was no mocking curve to his mouth, and his eyes – well, I wasn't sure quite what that expression was, though it almost looked as if – it certainly wasn't his usual look. What was he up to?

"I took no more pains than you take pains to thank me," I replied, determined not to show him my bewilderment. "You may be assured; I would never do something painful for your sake."

"Ah, then you took pleasure in bringing the message?" he queried, again in that earnest voice. I really didn't know what to say, but I managed to scrounge up something.

"As much pleasure as one takes upon a knife's point." Surely, he must make some answer. But he remained silent, regarding me with that look - ! I could take no more. "I see you have no appetite for either food or words. But I am hungry, and shall go in to dinner."

I left then, and he followed a minute or two after. This strange manner of his continued throughout the evening. Not one insult did he make, not one joke did he crack. I avoided him as much as I could, but I could not help closely observing him. His behavior seemed constrained, as if he was fighting against his nature, but when he looked at me, the constraint was no longer there. That look made me breathless, as it had many years before, and I was at a complete loss as to what was going on. This is why I sat in the library all morning in deep contemplation.

My reverie was broken when Meg opened the door and cavorted into the room. She started upon seeing me.

"Oh!" she said, "Excuse me, miss, I had no notion you were here."

"What on earth are you doing here?" I demanded. "Surely you cannot be looking for an improving book."

Meg sniffed. "To be sure, miss; I don't know when I would find time for reading. I came for a book that my lady sent me for."

"What book?" I asked. Hero is not precisely fond of reading."

"Lord Byron's poems, miss. My lady wishes to copy some verses this afternoon, and asked that I fetch the book to her room." That explained it. She was probably composing a love letter to Claude or some such thing. I returned to my novel. Meg noisily searched for the volume, but when she found it she did not leave. She remained looking at me, and thereby greatly annoying me.

"Well, what do you want, girl? You've found the book."

"Yes, miss. It's just that – well, I thought it might be my duty to tell you that my lady and Miss Wagell are talking about you in the garden."

"Talking about me?"

"Yes, miss. I know it's not my place to interfere, but -,"

"Oh, do go away!" Meg scuttled out of the room. I had every intention of returning to my book, but my incurable nosiness got the better of me. How different things might have been if I had restrained my curiosity, or if I had at least been more suspicious of Meg's motives in informing me of the conversation between Hero and Ursula. But it was just the sort of thing Meg would do and was always doing, spying on her betters and making mischief between them.

I put the book back on the shelf and left the library. When I got to the gardens, I tiptoed quietly about, until I found Hero and Ursula sitting on a bench near the roses. Crouching, I approached, and began listening.

I caught the end of something Ursula was saying, and then Hero sighed and said, "No, Ursula, truly I think you are wrong. She is too disdainful."

"That's as may be," replied Ursula in her calm way, although there was a tremor of excitement in her voice that I noted. And when she uttered her next words, I thought I knew why. "But are you certain, Lady Hero that Sir Benedict is in love with Beatrice?"

I choked on my own breath and had much to do to keep myself from screaming. I leaned closer and a thorn scraped my cheek. It hurt, but I didn't regard it.

"So says my dear Claude, and the duke. They want me to give her a hint about it." Then Hero laughed and continued, "I told them not to think of it! I wouldn't dare! I advised them to bid Sir Benedict look elsewhere for love and affection."

"But why?" asked Ursula. "I think they would make an excellent pair. And surely the man is worthy of Beatrice's love."

"Oh, not a doubt of it!" cried Hero. "I daresay he deserves as much as any man, and more. But there was never a woman as proud as Beatrice! I love her dearly, of course, but I am not unaware that her self-consequence is beyond all bounds. In her eyes, to love a man is to admit weakness, and so she is incapable of loving."

I was stung by this estimation of my character. I felt it to be unjust, and it wounded me the more because it was uttered by my sweet little cousin. I never would have imagined that she had such thoughts about me. There was a pause, and I waited for Ursula to rise to my defense, never doubting that she would.

"You may be right," she finally said, and I felt like all the air had suddenly vanished. She went on, "Perhaps it is best that she never know, for I fear that she would show him even more scorn."

"Oh, to be sure! There was never man alive but Beatrice could find fault with him! Why, you heard her speech the other night, Ursula. She can cut up a man's character in a minute and his appearance in less! Dark or fair, tall or short, talkative or silent, she has an insult for everyone, and is so determined to make sport of mankind that she is blinded to true merit."

"Such carping is not commendable."

"No, to be so contrary and at odds with everyone is not commendable. But I could never tell her so. If I should ever try to speak seriously with her, on this or any other matter, she should joke and mock so much that we both would be reduced to laughter. And if she will not speak seriously with me, will she do so with a man she has declared to be her enemy? Let Benedict waste away with longing rather than reveal his heart to her!"

"Still, Lady Hero, I think you should tell her of it. She must at least be given the chance."

"Not for the world! Perhaps I could think of something bad about her and tell it to Sir Benedict, and then he'll think the worse of her."

"You would do your cousin wrong," said Ursula, and I felt as if I should offer her my undying gratitude. "She is not stupid, and is, I think, fully aware of Sir Benedict's qualities."

"Oh, he is without a doubt the best of gentlemen, only excepting my dear Claude!" exclaimed Hero.

"Only excepting, of course," said Ursula, with some humor. "How are the wedding plans coming along?"

"Excellently! We have all the seamstresses in the village working on my bride clothes. Come into the house, I wish to show you the petticoats that arrived this morning!" They left the bench and walked off toward the house.

I disentangled myself from the rose bushes, and pulled out my handkerchief to dab at the thin scars I now had all over my face and arms. I was too exhilarated to regard the pain. At first, all I could think of was that he loved me. His odd behavior the night before was explained. He was endeavoring to let me know it. I smiled. And then I frowned, thinking of all the horrible things he had said to me since he had arrived at Messington. And now he had just suddenly decided to be in love with me again? The man was insufferable, and deserved all that he got from me!

I sat down on the bench. Angry as I was at Hero and Ursula, I had now to admit that they were right. Here I was, having just learned that the love of my life still loved me, and all I could do was think of reasons to hate him. Well, I would just have to prove them wrong. I could swallow my pride. I wasn't as stupid as I had been seven years ago. I had a second chance, it seemed, and I wasn't going to let it go by. The truth confronted me: I had never stopped loving him, never could. I had loved him even while I was in the midst of hating him. I wanted nothing more than to be married to him, even if it meant arguing with him until we were both old and decrepit. I resolved to give up my protestations against mankind and marriage.

Benedict, love on!


	21. Loving Goes by Haps Claude

_At last, I've written some more! Thanks to all those who have given me such encouraging reviews! I really love this story and hope to do it justice._

**3**

**Claude**

When we all sat down to tea that afternoon, I placed myself next to Hero on the sofa. She smiled engagingly at me and squeezed my hand. Even without these signs, I would have been able to tell that her end of the scheme had been carried out successfully. Miss Ponard, or Cousin Beatrice, as I was growing to think of her, was behaving very oddly. She was the last to enter the drawing room. She tried to sneak in without being noticed, but nobody could help but stare at the little scratches on her face and the piece of sticking plaster on one cheek. She had also evidently changed her dress for one with longer sleeves. I wondered what on earth had happened to her, and knew I was not the only one to wonder, but nobody dared to ask her. She muttered something about a rosebush and sat down near to Miss Wagell, keeping her eyes lowered.

A maid entered with the tea tray and Hero began to pour out. The maid left, and then scurried back in with a silver salver holding several letters. "If you please, sir," she said to Benedict with a curtsey, "These just came in the post for you."

Benedict gingerly took the letters, which I could see were liberally splotched with ink.

"What, letters from your family, Benedict?" I inquired. "They look like they must be from your very youngest nieces and nephews."

"Ah, those nieces and nephews have kept us entertained many a cold evening in Spain," said Donpedron. He cast a look in Beatrice's direction and added, "Amazing how those children dote on their uncle. It makes me suspect that Benedict is not as hard-hearted as he would like people to suppose." Benedict began to scowl, but stopped, and said nothing. The man was clearly trying to behave himself. I hoped he wouldn't kill himself with the effort. His manners toward Beatrice at dinner last night had clearly taken much out of him; he had smoked two cigars down to their stubs afterwards.

"Who are they from, Sir Benedict?" asked Lady Conrad genially. Of course, she was one of the few people in the room not in on the secret.

"Are they from your nieces and nephews, Sir Benedict?" gushed Letty Wagell. "How sweet they must be to write to you!"

"One is from my niece Anna and one is from my nephew Dick, who is up at Eton," replied Benedict. "And this less splattered one is from my sister Winifred."

"Ah, how is your dear sister?" said Lady Conrad. "Still as rattle-pated as ever?"

"Very likely," said Benedict as he glanced over the epistle.

"You remember Winifred Pade, my dear?" Lady Conrad nudged her husband, who in turn nearly jumped out of his chair. The man was only half-alive; in my judgement, he had not a passionate bone in his body.

"Oh – er, yes, my dear, Winifred Pade?" he responded. "I remember, yes, the chattery one, wasn't she? Married the Navy man?"

"One with the yellow hair?" inquired Mr. Conrad. I was somewhat surprised, for it was the first time he had engaged in civil conversation since his arrival. He went on, "Jolly girl, as I recall." This Benedict did not like. He cast a glare of intense dislike in Mr. Conrad's direction."

"And Anna is Martin's oldest, of course," went on Lady Conrad, effectively ignoring her son. "Good heavens, the child cannot be more than six! Isn't she young to be writing letter?"

"Anna is very precocious," said Benedict. "Her handwriting may leave something to be desired, but her spelling is irreproachable. She aspires to be a doctor; she knows a great deal of Latin already."

"A doctor?" gasped Lotta Wagell.

"Ah, that will be the day," laughed the Earl, shaking his head.

"Imagine, a female doctor!" exclaimed Mr. Olden.

"I think women are as capable as men of engaging in the medical profession."

I nearly choked on my tea. The Duke held his napkin over his mouth, and Beatrice had at last looked up, and she glanced sharply at Benedict for a long moment. Was this Benedict who had spoken in defense of women, Benedict the woman-hater? The man must be in love, or else he was deathly ill!

The room was silent for a minute, but Letty Wagell was too absorbed in herself to resist the temptation to break the silence.

"How many nieces and nephews do you have, Sir Benedict?" she asked, her eyes wide. "I had hoped to be an aunt by now, for I do so adore children. But I have not your luck." I glanced at Ursula Wagell, but the comment seemed not to affect her at all.

"I have fifteen at the present, and another six on the way," replied Benedict. He was now reading one of the letters, and did not even look up to answer the question.

"You must have a great many siblings," pursued Letty.

"I am the fourth of eight children."

"A large family indeed," said the Earl jovially, "and I daresay you plan to enlarge it yourself in the not too distant future." Benedict pretended not to hear this. Beatrice bit her lip very hard, and Letty, who thought the comment was a compliment to her in some way, giggled and fluttered her eyelashes. I never did like Letty Wagell. She was in for a disappointment.

Cousin Beatrice barely said a word the entire evening; she claimed that she was feeling unwell and left the room about an hour before the other ladies retired. When they did retire, I escorted Hero out into the hallway and lingered for awhile with her at the bottom of the stairwell.

"A success, my darling," I said to her. She smiled so prettily, and the mischief danced in her eyes. _She's perfect_, I thought, _the pure maiden that a knight in shining armor lives and dies for_. I wanted so much to do something heroic for her. Rescue her from a dragon or some such thing. But for now, I would have to do with helping her cousin to a good husband.

"I've never seen her so speechless," Hero giggled. "Did you see those scratches? She got caught in a rosebush while she was listening to Ursula and me. She's almost as in love as I am."

"But our love is no joke," I reminded her as I entwined my fingers with hers.

"No," she said, her elfin face becoming serious. She gazed up into my eyes lovingly, adoringly. "Oh Claude, I cannot wait to be wed!"

"Only four more days, my love," I said.


	22. Loving Goes by Haps Meg

**4**

**Meg**

I had just returned from an assignation with Mr. Boracton and was laying out my lady's nightclothes when Miss Ponard burst into the room. She cast herself upon her bed in a most unladylike way, reached for her handkerchief, and blew her nose very loudly. When she saw that I was present, she sat up and demanded to know what I was about.

"I'm just performing my duty, miss," I said in an affronted tone. Really, I'd like to know who made her mistress of Messington.

"Well, hurry up with your duty!" she snapped. "I want to be left alone!" What a shrew! And I thought the scheme to turn her lovesick had worked! Either my mistress had been mistaken, or Miss Ponard was as bad-tempered in love as in anything else. I performed my work as slowly as I could without arousing suspicion, and regarded the lady through lowered eyelashes. She leaned back against her pillow, sighed, and stared at nothing in particular, her eyes more grey than green at the moment. Perhaps she was in love.

I scuttled away, only to be called back to the room just an hour later. Lady Hero had come up and required my assistance.

"Meg, you must help me to undress," said my lady as she unsuccessfully attempted to undo the back of her gown. "Beatrice says she is unwell, and I cannot be catching anything from her. I don't want to be married with a red nose and bleary eyes."

Miss Ponard suddenly looked rather alarmed, and she reached for the hand mirror that rested on her nightstand. She examined herself carefully in its reflection before setting it down again and relaxing once more.

"I only have the headache, Hero," she sniffed. She eyed her cousin as I helped my mistress pull her rose-pink gown over her head. "Married at seventeen!" she exclaimed. "It's so ridiculous!"

"You nearly married at seventeen," said Lady Hero saucily. She wriggled into her nightgown and sat down at her dressing table. I moved to her side and began to pull the pins out of her hair. It was a cunning arrangement; I had done it myself. But I would never be as good as Miss Beatrice at arranging hair. In my mind I cursed the lady. She was the bane of my existence, always lecturing me and making sure I didn't have any fun. Not to mention that I could have commanded a much larger pay were it not for the way she kept her hands tight on the household finances. Well, she wasn't going to get my way much longer, I hoped.

"I was much older at seventeen than you are," said Beatrice, "and besides, I didn't marry at seventeen."

"Well, that's just because you were unlucky," said Hero comfortingly. "Don't worry, my darling cuz, you mustn't give up hope. You still have many admirers and are very pretty."

"I don't need your patronage, Hero," said Beatrice sharply. "Good heavens, I suppose that once you are the Viscountess of Florce, you are going to gad about in search of a match for poor Beatrice Ponard, just like your mother did." My lady's eyes widened in shock and Miss Ponard was instantly remorseful.

"Forgive me, Hero," she said quietly. "I am quite out of humor. We had best both get to bed." She pulled up the covers and closed her eyes. I was still brushing my lady's hair, and I smiled to myself as I did so. It was going to be very amusing to see Miss Ponard outwitted.

Why was I so self-satisfied, you may ask? Well, my assignation with Mr. Boracton in the gardens had been very worthwhile. He was just the sort of man I liked, intriguing and appreciative of myself, but not demanding. As we talked, my feelings toward Miss Ponard had somehow entered the conversation, and he had looked thoughtful for a few moments. Then he had smiled, and suggested a piece of mischief that would solve my problem once and for all.

The way to get rid of Miss Ponard was to make the Earl think that she was doing harm to his daughter, he said. This was the idea to act upon. Mr. Boracton's employer also had an interest in shaming Miss Ponard. John Arragon feared that the Duke his brother wished to wed Beatrice, and such a union might lead to children, which would effectively lessen Arragon's claims on Donpedron. That part sounded a trifle confusing, but I am not one to balk at particulars. In any case, Mr. Boracton assured me that he and I had a common goal, and that we should help each other out. This was his plan:

At midnight on the eve of the wedding, I would put on some of my lady's clothes and stand out on the balcony of the bedchamber. Mr. Boracton would stand below the balcony and speak some words of love, to which I would answer. Mr. Arragon would arrange for Lord Messington to be present at this scene, and would also tell him some choice tidbits of gossip; namely, that according to the servants, Miss Ponard was encouraging her cousin to dally with menials as she did herself. Perhaps it was a bad habit she had picked up in Spain. Lord Messington would be so alarmed for his daughter's reputation, particularly because of her impending wedding, that he would take measures to remove Miss Ponard from his household, or at least to severely reprove her. Oh, I knew it wasn't certain that it would work, for there were so many contingencies. But it couldn't do much harm to anyone except the person I hated the most, so I thought. And it would be great fun.

Miss Ponard was due for a fall.


	23. No Cure for the Toothache Benedict

**Chapter Six: _No cure for the toothache_**

**1**

**Benedict**

_Dear Uncle Ben, _the letter from Anna read, _I hope you are enjoying your summer. But I wish you had come here, because I miss you. Mama says only to fill up one page because I write too big so I cannot tell you about how the dog chased Little Ben around the garden or how I found a dead mouse and diskekted it and Mama was not pleased. Why don't you visit, is it because you have not settled down like Mama says you should. She says you need a wife, why don't you get one and then come and visit me? I am running out of room. I must say fare well and I love you. Your niece, Anna._

It seemed to me that everyone was in a plot to make me constantly think of Beatrice. Everyone except her, that is. She hadn't spoken a word to me since the evening after I did my bit of eavesdropping. I must confess that I was somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed. That I loved her I knew, but how to let her know it? She was hardly being encouraging.

After a day or two of reflection, I resolved that I would have to behave as any proper lover. I would do things right this time, and things would work out better. It was that simple, I told myself repeatedly. A good soldier learns from his past mistakes; so too must a good lover. I began to map out (mentally, of course) my plan of campaign. It seemed to me that the proper thing to do was to ask Lord Messington's permission to pay my addresses to Beatrice. It also seemed a most ridiculous thing to do. How would it look to him when I asked his permission for the second time? But I convinced myself that the deed, embarrassing as it would be, had to be done with no further delay.

Accordingly, when the gentlemen went out hunting that day, I attempted to draw the Earl off somewhat from the rest of the party. My efforts were unsuccessful, for my two great friends, Claude and Donpedron, seemed determined to keep me under their eye. As we tramped over the shrubby area of Messington where various fowl abounded, they kept on either side of me, continually exchanging what they must have believed to be sly glances.

"Claude, I think that I shall leave Messington a week or so after your wedding. I have received a letter from my aunt, and she wishes me to spend some portion of the summer at Arcourt," said the Duke as we walked.

"I shall accompany you, if the invitation includes me," replied the viscount. I gave him a stare. Go off with his friends after a week of marriage? Well, if only Beatrice could hear this! I may have been a bad catch, but at least I would have taken her on a wedding trip! Donpedron laughed.

"Invited, yes, but you shall not go. Taking you off so soon would be like giving you a new coat and forbidding you to wear it. No, you must be attentive to your new bride, you know how ladies are. I shall prevail upon Benedict to accompany me, for he I know will not be moping about, lovesick. He has not a sentimental bone in his body, and has no lady to pine for. What do you say, Benedict?"

"I thank you for your invitation, Your Grace, but I doubt you should find me such good company," was my reply.

"He is looking rather sober, is he not?" said Claude in a mocking voice. I gritted my teeth. "I hope he also has been struck with love!"

"Who, Benedict?" exclaimed the Duke, his eyebrows lifting in amazement. "No, not he! He has vowed many times against love, and I cannot believe he would break his word. No, if he is in a serious mood, it is because of financial difficulties."

"I have the toothache," I said. "It hurts."

"Have it drawn," suggested Claude.

"I'd rather have it hung," I replied.

"All this sobriety for a little toothache? No, Benedict, I do not believe you," said the Duke.

"Well, everyone can speak lightly of pain that they do not themselves feel," I said, with some strong conviction.

"He's undoubtedly in love," determined Claude, his eyes sparkling with glee, "and I think I know with whom!"

"He certainly shows the signs of it," agreed Donpedron. We had stopped walking by now and were readying our guns. Not that any bird would come near us, with all this chattering. The rest of the party was some way off, probably shooting birds by the dozen. It was all I could do not to shoot my friends with the perfectly primed gun I held.

"Yes, all the signs," said Claude. "He's certainly tidied up his hair. And he got ride of that hideous military mustache." I had been very fond of that mustache. But I knew that she hated it, and so I had shaved it off. What we do for love!

"He actually has taken care with his clothes," commented the Duke. "I don't know when I've seen him in a coat that actually fits or seen him take more than two minutes to tie his cravat."

"But most importantly, he's stopped making jests at such a rate," said Claude. "Clearly, there is something of great importance on his mind. All this is to say that the man is in love."

"A sensible conclusion. He is certainly in love."

"Ah, but I know who loves him."

"In spite of all his ill qualities."

"Poor thing."

"Yet this is no cure for the toothache!" I nearly shouted. I left them in some haste, heading toward the rest of the hunting party.

I did manage to speak to the Earl later that day. He acted very surprised when I asked permission to pay my addresses to his daughter, but seemed quite pleased with the idea. He kept rubbing his hands together and chuckling. I suppose he was eager to get his wretched niece off his hands. That task done, the greatest challenge lay ahead: Beatrice herself. How does one properly court a woman to whom one has already been engaged? Moreover, a woman whom one has been pretending to hate for years? I thought of how Claude had courted Hero, and rejected his methods instantly. I certainly would not be enlisting the Duke in my cause. I needed a better example than that. I thought of how my brothers had courted their wives. Compliments, acts of gallantry, the honest telling of their love. Much more normal, but in my experience, Beatrice did not always respond correctly to compliments or gallantry or honesty. If I told her that her eyes shone as stars in the heavens, or some such thing, she would laugh in my face. If I asked for a lock of her hair, she would stare at me in that contemptuous way and ask me just what I intended to do with it. And if I simply, honestly told her that I loved her? I didn't think that she would believe me.


	24. No Cure for the Toothache Donpedron

**2**

**Donpedron**

Humming "Sigh no More" to myself, I seated myself in the billiard room to await Claude's arrival. He had promised to give me a game after walking in the gardens with Lady Hero, and he was definitely late. No matter. This time of solitude would give me the opportunity to review the current situation. I removed my coat and placed it over the chair back, and propped up my feet on the edge of the table.

It was the day before the wedding. Messington had obtained a special license from London, and the servants had been bustling about with preparations for some days. There had been some argument as to whether the ceremony should take place in the chapel at Messington or at the parish church. Miss Ponard had won the battle by threatening to wash her hands of the entire affair if she were required to travel back and forth from the church five times a day to oversee the arrangements. So the ceremony was scheduled for ten the next morning with Mr. Francis presiding. Claude had asked me to be groomsman, but I had suggested Benedict. After all, Beatrice was to be bridesmaid.

I was still fairly confident of my schemes concerning that pair, but they were doing much to discourage me. Benedict had spent the past few days practically sulking. His courtship of Beatrice was not proceeding well; in fact, it was going dismally. He seemed afraid to speak to her at all. The portion of the party not in on the secret appeared to be greatly confused by his sudden change of manner. Lady Conrad berated him soundly for his lack of spirits, but he only replied with a wan smile. As for Beatrice, she was grumpier and grouchier than ever I had seen her. But, experienced a man as I am, I took these as good signs. They were both of them clearly in love, and it had been my doing. I was sure that they would work things out eventually.

As I sighed with contentment, the door opened, and Lord Florce came into the room. He removed his coat and slowly began to chalk his cue, smiling fatuously all the while.

"And how are the bride and groom?" I inquired.

"Oh, very well, I thank Your Grace," he replied. "I can scarce believe that by this time tomorrow I shall be a married man."

"It is a great step in one's life, to be sure," I mused. "But I daresay you are ready for the job."

"Certainly I hope so," he said, as we set the balls in place.

He played terribly. I wondered if I would ever get a good game this summer. After we had been at it some time, Arragon slipped into the room. My brother observed the game silently for awhile, in that creepy way he has. When we had finished, I put my cue away.

"Well, brother," I said, turning toward him. "Is there something you wish to say to me?"

"Not precisely," he answered. "In fact, what I have to say is more Lord Florce's affair." He bowed slightly in Claude's direction.

"What can you mean?" inquired the lad, somewhat bemused.

"I have become possessed of some – ah, information, which I think should be imparted to your lordship." His thin lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well?"

"I hesitate, my lord, for I am afraid such a report might dismay you."

"Out with it, man!" I exclaimed. "We do not mean to wait forever to hear this report."

"My man – Boracton, you know. Well, I always thought him to be a discreet fellow. I regret that I was wrong. Two mornings ago he came to my room quite in his cups. He had been up all night drinking, it seems. Well, he was so impertinent to boast to me of a certain conquest he had made." My brother paused.

"Good Gad, Arragon, did you come to us in all this state to tell us of your valet's amorous adventures?" I nearly shouted. I was quite at a loss as to what he was getting at.

"I beg you will allow me to continue, brother. You see, the lady in question was Lady Hero."

There was a stunned silence. I glanced at Claude, whose jaw was set. A flush of color was rising in his face. He finally said, between clenched teeth, "You lie!"

"Naturally, that was my own response. I upbraided Boracton for his boldness, and demanded proof of his story. So he told me to see for myself. Last night I watched in the garden while Boracton and her ladyship conferred on the balcony outside her window." He stopped and looked at Lord Florce directly. "I am afraid that it is no lie. The lady is disloyal."

"I do not believe it!" Claude declared, but there was doubt in his eyes.

"Of course it is not true!" I said. "Lady Hero is a complete innocent, I'd stake my life on it."

Arragon shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said. "But if you wish to be sure, only come with me to an appointed spot at midnight."

"Very well," snapped Claude. "If I see anything to cause her shame, I will denounce her publicly in the chapel tomorrow morning."

"And I too," I said. I sighed. "This day has turned untowardly, I think.

"What mischief can this be?" Claude muttered to himself, eyes downcast, brows drawn together.

"You will be grateful to have avoided future grief," said my brother.

That night we waited and watched. I hate to describe what we saw, and even more how devastated my friend looked. Therefore a brief description must suffice. We saw all that my brother had promised. A lady in a white nightgown, her back turned to us, her dark hair tumbling down her back, spoke in low tones to my brother's valet. He kissed her hand in farewell and sprung over the balcony, climbing down the trellis. As he descended, she turned and went into her bedchamber, shutting the door behind her. There was no denying it. All the proof was there. Lady Hero was no innocent.


	25. No Cure for the Toothache Verges

_I'm really grateful for all the encouraging reviews! I'm sorry that this chapter is so short and that it's taken me such a long time to write. My life has been getting very busy, and it's hard to find time and energy to spend on this story. But I'm determined to see it through, and I hope that the next few chapters will be quicker in coming. Eleni_

**3**

**Verges**

We were lucky to get that case in Kent, my partner and I. Usually we got stuck with the unimportant, mundane sort of things, like tracing a man's wife for him when he could just as well do it himself. We weren't often sent out of London, either. I don't know why the chiefs didn't seem to trust us, for we were a great team, Dogberry and I. We just needed a chance to prove ourselves. And we finally got it that summer of 1817.

Our assignment was to follow a man named Conrad and keep a close eye on him. Horace Conrad, son of some nobles. Fancy that, old Dogberry and I getting close to the nobility! According to what we were told, this fellow's parents suspected him of being involved in some mischief, but they didn't know what and wanted to find out, so as they could hush anything up if there was an uproar. They said they were taking this lad with them to visit an earl in Kent. As soon as my friend Dogberry heard the county mentioned, he stroked his chin and looked very wise.

"Kent, you say," he said. "Ah, that's very likely. Lots of free trading down there, isn't there? I strongly respect that this lad may be up to some smuggling, very strongly!"

"Ah, you may be right, Dogberry, you may be right," I agreed, shaking my head. "Nasty things these youth get up to nowadays. It's a shame, it is."

We arrived in Kent about a week after Conrad, according to his parents instructions. Accomodations had been prepared for us at a respectable inn just three miles from Messington Manor. It was called the Yellow Eagle, and we both discovered that the brew served there was something of a perk to our assignment. That evening we sat in the taproom, mugs in hand, going over our instructions.

"Well, Verges," said my friend, "we were told to set onto this Conrad fellow, and reserve his doings whenever he should leave that Manor."

"Quite right," I approved. "But how do we set about that?"

"We must host a watch upon the Manor," answered Dogberry. "We must fire some men to do this."

"Ah, a clever idea, my friend!" I exclaimed. "But who?"

I never doubted Dogberry's ability to turn the trick. Within the hour he had found three men to fulfill the job. They were fellow occupants of the taproom, and not averse to earning a bit of money. Besides, it seemed that this Mr. Conrad had not made himself popular in the town, what with his overly familiar ways with the young townswomen.

Only one of the men, George Seacole by name, was much of a hand at writing, so it was agreed that he should be responsible for taking notes that we could then copy into our Occurrence books. It all seemed like a fine plan, and after we had sent the men off, there was not much for Dogberry and I to do. So, after downing a few mugs each, we went off to our beds.

I was startled by a knock at my door at about four in the morning. It was George Seacole and he had much to say. I couldn't make head or tail of it, he was so excited. I quickly summoned Dogberry, and arrayed in our nightshirts and dressing gowns, we made our way down to the taproom, where we had the full story out of Seacole.

Apparently, the men had been lingering behind some bushes near the gate to the Manor's yard, but had seen or heard naught until close to three. They then heard someone coming down the road and quickly moved closer. It was Conrad himself and some other man, who had been taking their brew at the Blue Oyster, the inn at the other end of town. As they approached the gate they stopped walking and stood conversing for some short while.

"I wrote it all down as best as I could with only the moonlight," said Seacole, peering at his notes. "Conrad asked the other fellow if he thought the trick would work, and the other fellow said yes, for his master was that pleased with him and had given him a hefty some of money for his work. And Conrad said he couldn't wait to see the commotion that would be kicked up at the wedding. Then the other fellow said he did feel a little bad about pulling a wench," here Seacole squinted closer at the paper, "name of Meg, I think, into the affair, but then said as she was a game pullet anyway and had no shame in playacting to be her mistress bidding her lover goodnight. And this other fellow went on, saying as how the Duke and Lord Florce had been completely hoaxed and that Mr. Arragon was sure that Lord Florce would condemn Lady Hero as a wanton in church next morning."

Dogberry and I looked at each other in astonishment. Dogberry was the first to speak (as he usually was).

"What villainy have we here? Verges, do our ears receive us? It is dubious to me that these two fellows are knaves and must be comprehended!"

"True, true," I agreed. "Mr. Seacole, where are these rogues now?"

"Oh, safe and sound, Mr. Verges," Seacole assured us. "My friends and I came upon them from behind with a few stout sticks and gave them what for. And then we took them to the town jail and gave them over to the constable."

"Friend Seacole," said Dogberry severely, "to set upon a man without being a man of the law oneself may be resided a criminal act. But in this case, I will overlook it. Come, friend Verges, we must dress and go to the constable remedially!"


	26. No Cure for the Toothache Hero

**4**

**Hero**

Over a few days, my cousin's headache developed into something of a cold. It was not too bad, for it did not confine her to her bed, but it did make her somewhat irritable. Or at least it gave her a good excuse for being irritable. I was grateful that it was not worse, for the housekeeper would not have been capable of making the wedding arrangements, and a postponement would have been wretched. As it was, Beatrice went about her tasks without talking much to anyone, was remarkably rude to our guests, and was so miffed by my joking request that she would not infect me that she had her things moved into one of the spare bed chambers. I missed her company, but found that of my dear Claude sufficient compensation. Besides, I could always talk to Meg or to one of the Wagell girls.

Letty was rather put out that I had not asked her to be a bridesmaid. I should not have minded if she were, but the wedding was supposed to be simple and I doubt that Letty had any gowns suitable for such a thing. However, Letty seemed to find solace in the flirtations she was attempting to instigate with no less than three gentlemen at once. Since she got encouragement from none of them, I had to admire her tenacity.

The night before my wedding, I asked Beatrice to come to our bedchamber. She complied, shuffling in with her dressing gown about her, her hair falling over her shoulders, and a handkerchief held to her nose. Sitting down on the edge of my bed, she asked me what I wanted.

"Nothing at all, cuz, save your presence," I replied, tucking my knees up under my chin. "You know it is my last day as a girl, and I just wanted to see you before tomorrow."

Trixie's mood seemed to change. She took my hand and squeezed it. "Of course, once you are a married woman, we shall not be able to have these comfortable cozes."

"No," I agreed. "That is what I was thinking. I can scarce believe that soon I will be leaving Messington and going to live somewhere else entirely."

"Florce Park is only twenty miles away. I daresay you shall visit here often."

"Oh, yes, I shall. But things won't be the same, will they, Trix?"

"No," Beatrice said slowly, shaking her head. "Things will never be quite the same." She seemed to be sad. She looked into my eyes steadily. "Your mother would have been very happy for you, were she here."

"I know," I said softly. I thought of when my mother died. I had been so sad. And then Trixie had come whirling into our lives, and I had scarcely known sadness since. I suppose I had often taken her for granted. I wanted to let her know how much I loved her and how I appreciated all her care for me. I was even on the verge of telling her that I only had tricked her because I thought she still loved Benedict and I wanted her to be as happy as I was. But just then Meg came in to lay out my wedding gown, and Beatrice soon left the room.

I awoke the next morning in a perfect fever of excitement. As soon as I realized what day it was, I leaped out of bed and laughed for joy. I was going to be married!

Meg came in with my cup of hot chocolate, but I could not drink a sip of it. Soon Beatrice and Ursula, Letty and Lotta, and even Lady Conrad had gathered in my room to help me with my toilette. Lady Conrad made sure that all the little details of my apparel were taken care of, and Beatrice did my hair so beautifully that I felt like a queen in a fairy tale. Then the others retired to attend to themselves.

When she was ready, Beatrice returned. She was lovely herself, in a gown of pale yellow, with yellow roses in her hair. She brought with her my bouquet, which was of pink roses and sprays of white lily-of-the-valley. She did not say anything, but simply kissed me on the cheek. Then my father knocked at the door and entered. He looked somewhat flustered, but was beaming happily.

"My dear, you are quite lovely," he said, embracing me. I could see tears in the corners of his eyes, and I felt a strong wish to cry myself. "I'm sorry it took me so long. There were some strange visitors below stairs. But I sent them about their way. There are more important things to attend to here, I told them!"

"What visitors were these, Uncle?" inquired Beatrice, her ears perking.

"Oh, local law enforcement or some such thing, wanting to speak to me about some petty crime in the village, no doubt. I told them I'd see to it presently. Come, come, my dears, Lord Florce and the others are waiting at the chapel."

And so we went to the chapel, and my heart was brimming with joy.


	27. This Looks not Like a Nuptial Beatrice

**Chapter Seven: _This Looks not Like a Nuptial_**

**1**

**Beatrice**

I must say that I think I did an excellent job with the wedding arrangements, especially considering the short notice and the state of mind I was in at the time. The small chapel was bursting with pink and white roses, white lily-of-the-valley, and here and there a golden rose was tucked in. There were white ribbons tied on the ends of the pews, and sunlight streamed in through the tall windows. As I walked down the aisle in front of my cousin, I saw Mr. Francis directly ahead of me, then Lord Florce and Benedict Pade standing off to one side. Benedict Pade had taken rather more care than usual with his appearance, and I thought he looked rather handsome. But as soon as I realized this thought, I turned my gaze away and tried to ignore the fact that he was staring intently at me.

I looked instead at Claude, who seemed to be rather white around the gills. Nervous, no doubt, and no wonder. He was still very much of a boy, I thought, and about as ready for marriage as Hero was. Still, I supposed the two of them had as good of a chance at happiness as most. They were both kind-hearted and seemed to be genuinely attached to each other. I could not shake away the thought, however, that this was all happening too fast.

Hero was absolutely radiant as she walked down that aisle, her eyes seeing Claude and nobody else. My uncle was beaming almost as widely as she was, truly glad to dispose of his daughter in such a highly advantageous way. When they reached the altar, Uncle Leonard stepped over to the side and Hero took her place beside Lord Florce. The ceremony began.

Mr. Francis no doubt spoke very eloquently on the subject of marriage, but I must confess that I was not paying attention. I began to feel awkward almost as soon as he opened his mouth, realizing that I was standing at the front of a church in a wedding ceremony with Benedict Pade standing only steps away. This set my mind to wandering. Therefore, I was greatly stunned to hear Claude speak when Mr. Francis got to the bit about knowing any just impediment.

"Do you know of any, Hero?" he asked my cousin in a stony voice. Everyone stared at him in amazement. What was he about, to be interrupting the ceremony in such a way? Mr. Francis looked up from his book, somewhat annoyed, I thought.

"I know of none, my lord," Hero replied. I saw the puzzlement on her face.

"Do you know of any, my lord?" asked Mr. Francis.

"Of course he doesn't!" exclaimed my uncle, giving a nervous laugh. "Let us get on with this, shall we?"

"One moment, Mr. Francis," said Claude, turning toward my uncle and addressing him. "My lord, do you freely and gladly give me this your only daughter?"

"Of course, as freely as God gave her to me!" What on earth was going on? Was this a joke, or some worse mischief?

"And what do I have to give you in payment for so precious a gift?" the viscount went on.

"Nothing," Donpedron now spoke up, "unless you give her back again." There was no laughter in his voice. Indeed, he looked as grave as I had ever seen him.

Suddenly, Claude grasped Hero's arm and very nearly shoved her in my uncle's direction.

"Then take her back again!" he shouted. "Do not give this rotten fruit to one you call your friend! She is not what she seems!" There was a look of horror and hurt on Hero's face and one of fury on that of Claude's. I ran to my cousin's side and put my arm about her to support her, for my uncle was clearly incapable of being useful. He just stood there, mouth agape, as the viscount continued his rant.

"Look there how she blushes! One would think to see her that she was a virtuous maid indeed. But she is none! She is a wanton, and her blushes are of guilt and not of modesty!"

There was a general gasp. For a moment I thought of how good it was that I had convinced my uncle to have the ceremony in the chapel and not in the village church. Perhaps with a little management (and bribery) the servants would not spread this tale about.

"What do you mean by this, Florce?" Uncle Leonard managed to say.

"Not to be married. Not to knit my soul to a loose woman."

Such slander! Such vile filth against my dear sweet Hero! Would not my uncle deny it? Would not he challenge Claude's lying words?

"My lord," said my uncle, "if you have persuaded my daughter to prematurely –"

"You would say that if I had stolen your daughter's honor, she came to me than as to her husband. But no such thing have I done! I never with word or look attempted such a deed! She seemed to me the perfection of modesty and innocence." Here he paused to take a breath, and as he did so, Hero shook herself from my grasp and started forward.

"And seemed I ever otherwise to you?" she demanded of him.

"You seemed to me as fair and pure as Diana herself," he said, in a lower tone. "But you are no such thing. You are as unguarded in your passions as Venus herself."

"Are you well that you speak so strangely?" she nearly shouted. There were tears running down her face, but they were quickly turning from tears of sadness into tears of rage. Then she turned to the Duke. "And you, you are his companion in this madness? What have you to say?"

"What should I say?" the Duke said in a very controlled voice. "I am dishonored. I have promoted the alliance of my dearest friend to a common stale."

My uncle was wringing his hands. "Are these things truly being said, or do I dream them?" he moaned.

Here the honorable John Arragon put in his two pence. "My lord," he said, rising from his seat, "these things are said, and, unfortunately, they are true."

"True! Oh, God!" cried Hero, and then she was back in my arms, weeping. I held her tightly. For once in my life I was too angry to say anything. I could only continue to observe this horrifying scene. I glanced only once at Benedict Pade, and heard him mutter something under his breath. It sounded like, "Some wedding," but I couldn't be sure. Claude took the stage again.

"Messington, do I stand here, does the Duke, is this not your daughter? Will you let me question Lady Hero, and will you bid her speak the truth?"

"My child, I charge you to answer truthfully," my uncle said tremblingly to Hero, a look of doubt coming into his eyes.

"God defend me!" she wailed. "Now you too, Father, would accuse me?"

"Stand up tall, Hero," I whispered in her ear, finally able to say something. I couldn't bear this much longer. She stopped crying abruptly and looked at me. Then she faced Claude and asked, "And what is the purpose of this questioning, my lord?"

"To make you answer to your true name!" he said.

"Is it not Lady Hero Lydal, daughter of the Earl of Messington? Who can blot out that name with any just reproach?" She had clearly summoned up all her courage to pull that off. She sounded just like Aunt Agatha.

"Hero herself can blot it out with her own wrongdoing," replied the viscount. "Answer me this: Who did you speak with out of your window at midnight last night?"

Hero nearly laughed. "I talked with nobody at that hour, my lord. I was fast asleep!"

"Then your daughter is not only a wanton but a liar also, Messington," said the Duke, sadly. "My brother, Lord Florce and I observed your daughter at that very hour exchange pleasantries with my brother's valet on her bedroom's balcony. And the valet claims that it was not the first time."

"But let us not speak of the details," Arragon broke in smoothly, "for they are not at all edifying to the present company. Lady Hero, I am sorry for your mismanagement, and for your father's grief."

"Oh, Hero," said Claude, "if only- But I see that I was deceived. You have ruined me for love forever, if that thought will give you comfort."

"I could kill myself with the dishonor of this!" shouted my uncle. And then, Hero fainted. I knelt down beside her, and tried instantly to revive her. Benedict Pade joined me, asking "How is she?"

Her face was so grotesquely pale, my mind so scattered, that I nearly sobbed, "Dead, I think, with grief!"

When they heard this, Claude, Arragon, and the Duke said something that I did not hear, and the next thing I knew, they were gone, and the church was beginning to empty. I took the handkerchief that Benedict Pade was holding out to me, and began to mop Hero's fevered brow with it. Water, I needed water, or smelling salts. I couldn't think properly with my uncle ranting and Mr. Francis trying to calm him down. But then Benedict Pade had tossed a bouquet of flowers out of a vase and had taken back the handkerchief and was dipping it in the vase water. Hero began to groan.

"How now, cuz?" I asked gently, helping her to sit up.

"Does she live?" asked my uncle. "It would be better if she did not! A fallen daughter? And I used to complain that God only granted me one child! One child too many! Oh, how could she have so dishonored our name! The scandal!"

"How can you say such things, Uncle?" I demanded, finding my temper at last. "My cousin has been treacherously slandered, and you do not defend her?"

"Beatrice," said Benedict Pade earnestly, "You share a bedchamber, the two of you, do you not? Were you not with her last night?"

I focused my mind. Yes, this is what had to be done. Proof had to be established. But last night –

"No," I said, and I cursed under my breath. "I was feeling ill, and she didn't want to catch it. I slept in another room."

"Proved guilty!" This was from my uncle. I could have wept with shame.

"Let us calm ourselves, my lord," said the chaplain. "Give me leave to speak. I have observed your daughter, my lord, and her looks have been of outrage, modesty, and embarrassment, not of guilt or shame. Her actions are not those of a loose women. Clearly, there is some mistake here."

"I would vouch for the honor of my friends, sir," said Benedict Pade, ignoring the scalding look I cast at him. "I do not believe they would have deliberately invented such a tale."

"We shall have to wait, then, for this mystery to be sorted out. In the meantime, we should let the viscount believe that Hero is dead. She could live isolated for a few days in a less-used part of the house. The viscount then might feel remorse and reflect upon what he has done. And, my child," he said to Hero, "I think you might also prefer to spend some days by yourself, with perhaps only your cousin to keep you company."

She nodded, leaning her head against my shoulder. I saw that she was exhausted and needed sorely to go to bed. Benedict and I helped her to stand, and her father and Mr. Francis led her away. I sank to the floor and cried as if my heart would break.


	28. This Looks not Like a Nuptial Benedict

**2**

**Benedict**

What does one do with a sobbing woman? Not an hour ago I would have been thrilled by the opportunity to be alone with Beatrice. Now, frankly, I was at my wit's end. There she was curled up on the floor of the church, the skirt of her gown tucked around her legs, her face hidden in her hands. I stood only a few feet away from her and gazed down, perplexed. For a minute or two I believe she was ignorant of my presence. When she realized that she was not alone, she hiccupped and tried to wipe her wet cheeks with a flimsy handkerchief that she pulled out of her pocket. I could offer her mine! There, that was something to do. But no, I had already offered my handkerchief toward the revival of Hero. Drat the girl, she probably had it still.

"Do you weep still, Miss Ponard?" I asked, not being able to think of anything else to say. Beatrice straightened, but did not rise from the floor. She heaved a sigh and did not look at me.

"Yes, and I will weep a while longer." She blew her nose loudly.

"I wish you would not."

"I must confess that I do not take your wishes into account on the matter!" she snapped. Then she subsided into the handkerchief again. I was quite sure that the thing would soon be damaged beyond repair.

There was another long interval of silence between us. I tried again to talk of the strange events that had just occurred.

"I think your cousin has been greatly wronged," I ventured, and it was but the truth. Nobody in their right senses could suspect little Lady Hero of such gross iniquity. But there must be some mistake, for I could neither suspect my two friends of deliberately slandering the name of a decent woman.

Beatrice raised her head at last and looked me squarely in the eye. She seemed almost to be sizing me up.

"He who would right her would deserve much of me," she said in a voice that had a touch of the challenge in it. Well, Benedict Pade was not a man to back down from a challenge.

"May a man do it?" I asked.

"It is a man's duty," she replied, and then she lowered her eyes. "But it is not yours, I think."

I knelt down beside her. Was this the right time? I hardly knew. But one cannot gain much without risking much. I reached out and took her hand.

"I love nothing in the world so much as you," I said. She started, but did not pull her hand away. I waited for an answer, but she gave none. Eventually I let go her hand, stood up, and walked a few steps away, still facing her. I gave an uncertain laugh. What was she thinking? If only I knew!

"I suppose you think that a rather strange confession."

"Strange… yes, I must say that I do," she said. "As strange as…" Another long pause. I had never had such a drawn-out conversation in my life. But then she said it. "As strange as if I were to confess that I loved nothing in the world so much as you."

"Beatrice!"

"Wait, I didn't mean – that is, I do not deny – I meant to say – oh, dear." Her tears had dried up, but her head was in her hands again.

"Upon my honor, Beatrice, you love me!" I could have shouted for joy, and I very nearly did.

"I wouldn't take an oath on it," she said. "You are so – so conceited! And…"

I bent and took her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Cease your protesting! Beatrice Ponard, I love you and I am going to marry you even if I have to endure your jibes for another seven years!"

"Well, then, keep talking. I'm so glad you interrupted me, for I was about to give way to foolish sentiment," she said with half a smile.

"What, what were you going to say? That I was arrogant and witless?"

"No. Actually, I was going to protest that I loved you with all my heart."

"Then do so!"

She held one of my hands to her cheek, which was now suffused with a very pretty shade of pink. In a low voice she said, "I love you with so much of my heart that there is none left to protest."

I inhaled deeply. She loved me. Truly. It was not just hearsay now, it was real, and she was standing here right in front of me and telling me so. Seven years had not changed our love for each other, and now we were older and wiser and past the obstacles of youth's follies. I was so full of love that I imagined I could do anything for her sake; I would even jump off a cliff if it could spare her pain.

"Come," I whispered, drawing her close, hoping for a kiss. "Bid me do anything in the world for you."

"Kill Claude," was her reply.

I pulled back. What the devil did she mean by that? Was she joking? No, she wasn't, I could see the fierceness in her eyes, those eyes that a second ago had been filled with tenderness. Did she think I was mad? Or had she gone mad herself?

"Not for anything!" I declared. She dropped my hands and turned her back to me.

"You kill me to say it. I bid you good day, Sir Benedict." She began to walk toward the door. I reached out and grabbed her arm. She would not get away this time!

"Let me go!" she shouted.

"Not until we're friends again, Beatrice," I said as calmly as I could, snatching her other arm before she could use it to injure me.

"You dare call yourself my friend when you refuse to fight my enemy?" She attempted to jab me in the ribs with her elbow. Gritting my teeth, I managed to pin her arms to her sides.

"Is Claude your enemy?" _Be reasonable for once in your life!_ I thought.

"Has he not shown the height of villainy? He has slandered," here an attempted kick at my shins, "scorned," another kick, "and dishonored," this one hit its mark, "my cousin!" I let her go. She administered another kick and, as I sat down one of the pews to ease the pain, she began to pace about the room, working herself up into a flaming temper.

"O, that I were a man! I would eat his heart out! What, begin the marriage ceremony, act like the perfect bridegroom, lead everybody on, then accuse her so falsely and in such a public manner! If I were a man, I should have asked of him his choice of weapons the moment he opened his foul, deceitful lips!"

"Beatrice, listen…"

"Talked with a man out of her window! What a saying! What a gentleman Lord Florce is, to be sure! Oh my sweet Hero, who never had a thought of wickedness in her head, she is slandered, wronged, she is undone forever!"

"Beat – "

"But of course we must all listen to the word of a gentleman, for a lady's word means nothing! O, that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend who would be a man for my sake!" Here she stopped, exhausted, cheeks flushed, and glared at me. Then she dropped down onto another pew and drew a long breath. She stopped shouting. "But there is no such friend. Manhood is melted into courtesy, valor into compliments. To be considered as valiant as Hercules a man need only tell a lie and swear it upon his honor."

I came and sat beside her, but did not touch her. She did not protest. There was a weariness coming over her. The spark in her eyes had vanished, leaving a dim tiredness behind. I hated to see her like this.

"By this hand, Beatrice, believe me, I do indeed love you." I was pleading with her to take my love as it was, to take my comfort without demanding more.

"Use it for me some other way than swearing by it," she said.

She was not going to let me off easy. I should have realized it earlier, but understanding was now beginning to dawn on me. She would not accept words as proof of my love. She had done that last time and I hadn't suited my actions to match those words. And now there was this disastrous wedding. Claude had made all sorts of flowery speeches to Hero, but whatever the truth was, Beatrice was right. Claude had betrayed Hero, had slandered her and humiliated her. He had not trusted her, had not believed her, had not been willing to forsake all others for her.

The question now was, was I willing? Was I willing to risk my position as the friend of Donpedron, my relationship with the two men who had been my closest friends over the past few years? If I dueled with Claude I risked being killed or having to flee the country if I were the killer. I had thought I could jump off a cliff for her, but it was easy to think that when there was no possibility of my having to do so.

Beatrice was staring at her hands, which clasped each other tightly in her lap. I could almost feel her silently pleading with me. She wanted my loyalty as much as she wanted my love. Her request for me to "kill Claude" was more than a desire for vengeance. She wanted a solid reason to trust me with her heart again.

"That's enough," I said. "I will challenge him as soon as I have the opportunity. I will leave you now to go and comfort your cousin. As you hear of me, so think of me."

She looked at me briefly, in some surprise, but said nothing. As I left the chapel I wondered what on earth I had gotten myself into.


	29. This Looks not Like a Nuptial Meg

_Sorry so short! But I hope to update again soon. queen eleni_

**3**

**Meg**

My poor mistress! What had I done? To be sure, I had acted unknowingly, but I could not help feeling just a little guilty. I supposed all that talk about helping me get rid of Miss Ponard was so much rot. Or was it? Was Mr. Boracton as complicit in this affair as it seemed at first? Or was he the dupe of Mr. Arragon? In any case, I determined never to speak to the fellow again. Only consider how much trouble I should have been in if my part in the affair had come to light! Turned off without a character, I had no doubt of it. Thank goodness nobody knew of it except those who had as much interest as I in keeping the matter a secret.

Had my mistress not dropped dead in such a way, I reflected as I sat, handkerchief in hand, in my lady's dressing room, I would not have felt guilty at all. If my Lord Florce was such a great idiot as to be taken in by a bit of childish playacting, he was really not worth crying over. There would have been a little scandal perhaps, but I had no doubt that it could have been hushed up. My lady would have found another suitor, for she was only seventeen, after all. But dead! It was horrible to think of. When she swooned, I had wanted with all my might to go to her, but that rather ugly Miss Wagell had herded all of the servants out of the church before I knew what was happening. If I had remained, I might have been able to bring her around, for I always carry several vials of smelling salts on my person. But nobody paid any heed to me, of course.

And now what was I to do? With my lady dead, the only thing I could think of was to straighten up the bedchamber, and look over the gowns to see which she had best be buried in. Perhaps they would let me dress the body. And then I would be sent off, with my month's pay, for certain, and a good character, I hoped. I certainly wouldn't stay to be maid to Miss Ponard. After attending Lady Marianne Brancaster and Lady Hero Lydal, it would be a degradation.

I heard a door open, so I left the dressing room to see who was in the bedchamber. It was Miss Ponard, and when she saw me she gave a start.

"Meg, what are you doing here?" she demanded none too politely.

"I'm just tidying up my lady's things, miss," I replied, with a sniff into my handkerchief. "Oh, miss, is it true? Is she really dead?"

"Yes," said Miss Ponard, after a short pause. "I do not wish to speak of it."

Her face was pale and drawn, and I could see from her red-rimmed eyes that she had been crying. These events, I thought, had done considerable damage to her beauty. But then, I had never thought her so remarkable to look upon.

"Oh, of course, miss," I said. "I was just wondering what I ought to do."

"Do? Oh. Well, perhaps you could assist Mrs. Finn. She is making the arrangements for the funeral. It will be a small, private affair, of course."

"Very well, miss. And are the gentlemen to remain?"

"The gentlemen? Oh." Clearly, Miss Ponard was not at her sharpest. "The Duke, his brother, and Lord Florce are removing to an inn in town until they settle their traveling arrangements. They are of course anxious to be off." Her eyes narrowed. "But what business is that of yours?"

"Oh, none at all miss. I was just curious, as I have been looking for Mr. Arragon's valet, and have not been able to find him. I thought perhaps they had gone already."

"I have not the time to busy myself with everyone's whereabouts, Meg," she snapped. "Be off with you! And mind you don't gossip about this affair!"

Well! I managed a very dignified exit, although I was fuming inside. I would not wait to be dismissed; I would give leave as soon as the funeral was over.


	30. This Looks not Like a Nuptial MrThaster

**4**

**Mr. Thaster**

After leaving the chapel, I was not quite sure what to do or where to go. Miss Wagell took her weeping sisters up to their rooms, and Sir James and Lady Conrad went to sit in one of the drawing rooms. I ended up by following Mr. Olden into the Red Saloon, where we sat for some time saying nothing to each other at all. Mr. Olden looked suddenly very old and frail, as if he would expire at any moment, and clearly had not the energy to converse.

I took the time to reflect on the morning's events. It was impossible that my mind should not be in a whirl; I could make no sense of the wretched business. My instinct was to believe in Lady Hero's innocence. I had known her from her infancy, and I knew what kind of girl she was. Nobody who was even slightly acquainted with her could believe that there was any truth in Lord Florce's accusations! But there it was! Florce, a young man head over ears in love, by all appearances, was her accuser! And the Duke of Donpedron, too, who was by all accounts the epitome of an honorable man! Either Hero was guilty or these two gentlemen were slanderers of the worst kind. But neither possibility matched with the established facts concerning the characters of either party.

It was possible that there had been some mistake, but I had no notion of what it could be. Either Lady Hero was talking to some man from her balcony or she was not. And Lady Hero could not prove that she had been asleep, could she?

But if she were dead, she could prove nothing. I shuddered. When she dropped down, I don't think any of us believed that she was truly dead. Yet there was that possibility, and it was a horrid one.

It was an hour later that Lord Messington himself entered the room. His face was pale and drawn, and he told us briefly and wearily that his daughter was dead. Before we could answer, he had gone again.

"Dead, then," I said numbly.

"My poor young cousin," murmured Mr. Olden, tears welling in his eyes. "Such a pretty little thing! So kind, so sweet! It is a shame, Mr. Thaster, it is a shame! I may be an old and decrepit man, but I can recognize innocence, when I see it before my face. And she was innocent, whatever noble gentlemen may have to say about it!"

He blew his nose in his handkerchief.

"I am sure you are right, sir," I answered mechanically. "You will excuse me. I think I must take a turn about the gardens."

I left and walked out into the shrubbery, where I found Miss Wagell sitting on a bench, staring straight in front of her. I hesitated before seating myself beside her.

"Miss Wagell, you have heard the news?"

"What news?" she asked, not turning to look at me. But she answered herself. "Oh. She's dead. I did not know until now." There was restraint in her voice that I found very peculiar.

"It is difficult to comprehend," I said. What a fool I was! She was undoubtedly in distress and all I could do was state the obvious, making her feel worse, for all I knew!

"Mr. Thaster, I do agree with you. But dead…" She finally looked at me. There were no tears. Sadness, perhaps, but not tears, and much pensiveness. I found myself admiring the expression of her eyes, the way they conveyed what she felt. She was, I felt with strong conviction, an honest lady. The sort who hated deception, who took pains to be clear in all she said and did. It was what I so respected – no, it was what I so loved about her.

"Do you think that people can die of broken hearts, Mr. Thaster?" she asked after a long pause. The question was made seriously, and deserved a serious answer.

"One hears of it in stories, Miss Wagell, but rarely in real life. Yet it seems that we now have proof of it."

"I do not think people do die of broken hearts, Mr. Thaster," she stated simply. "If they did, half of all young people should die before the age of five and twenty. An old and weak person might suddenly drop dead if they received a great shock. But not a young and healthy person. No, I do not think such things happen."

"But it did happen," I pointed out, wondering what she was getting at. "It happened to Lady Hero."

"Perhaps," she said thoughtfully, "she is better off dead." She saw my shocked expression and smiled tightly. "You know, Mr. Thaster, what the world is in regards to young ladies. If Lady Hero had lived, and this story had gotten about, as it certainly must, there would have been a great scandal. Assuredly, the scandal will be there in any case, but think of the consequences had she not so conveniently died. She never would be considered eligible by another man; she would not be accepted in any lady's drawing-room; she would have to live out her life in solitude and disgrace."

She was right, of course. Regardless of whether she was innocent or guilty, Hero would be punished. Yet what Miss Wagell seemed to be suggesting was inconceivable!

"You think," I said carefully, "that Lady Hero's death may be feigned?"

"I consider it a strong possibility," she said. "People are always unwilling to live with disgrace, and Lord Messington is more repelled by scandal than many others. Lady Hero would be too out of sorts to protest, and Beatrice…Beatrice would normally object to any such scheme, but she has been so unlike herself these past few days on account of Sir Benedict…" Here she stopped short, realizing that she had said more than she had intended.

"Is that it, then?" I inquired.

"My wretched tongue!" she exclaimed. "Why is it, Mr. Thaster, that I can never be discreet when conversing with you?"

"It is because you can trust me not to repeat a word of what you tell me in confidence. I would never betray you, you know."

"No, I do not believe you would," she answered softly, and there was a warmth in her eyes that sent a surge of hope rushing through me. But now was not the time for such things, was it?


	31. Boys, Apes, Braggarts Arragon

**Chapter Eight: _Boys, Apes, Braggarts, Jacks, Milksops!_**

**1**

**Arragon**

It was when we returned from the chapel that I became fully aware of Boracton's absence. I had noticed, of course, his failure to attend me that morning, but I assumed that he had taken the liberal sum of money I had bestowed upon him for services rendered and spent the night under a table at a public house. Boracton's only fault was a certain fondness for stimulating beverages, a fault which had led him into such predicaments before. Therefore, I was not alarmed at the time by his absence, and, after all, a man with such an evil genius deserves his reward.

But as my brother and Lord Florce made haste to be off to London, I found that Boracton had still not returned. Something was clearly wrong. I did not know what, but I was determined to find out before riding off to London. I could leave no loose ends that might lead to discovery of my clever little scheme to ruin Florce's happiness and my brother's honor.

"My dear brother," I said to Donpedron as he entered my bedchamber, demanding to know why I wasn't packed yet. "I seem to have misplaced my valet."

"Misplaced? Do you mean the fellow is missing?"

_What else could I mean_? I thought, despising my brother's lack of perception once again. "I cannot think where he is gone. But you must see that I cannot leave without him. He is quite indispensable."

"If you think I am going to wait here while you look for that no-good scoundrel, Arragon, you are quite wrong!" he nearly shouted. How delightfully out of spirits he was, to be sure. This affair had affected him just as I had hoped it would. "And I'm not going to tell Florce to wait on that fellow's convenience. What an idea!"

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," I said smoothly, "but perhaps you had not realized the implications…"

"What implications?" His eyes narrowed.

"Only that Boracton may have gone to get a drink after his – er – _rendezvous _last night. His tongue is inclined to wag when he is foxed, and I fear that he may have said some indiscreet things. Things that your hasty departure to London will only confirm in the minds of these low country townsfolk. I assume that you do not wish this affair to become widely known?"

"Of course I do not," he answered sharply. "Do you suggest that we stay here at Messington in order to put rumor to rest? You must see how impossible that is!"

"Not here at the Manor," I said. "But perhaps at the inn in town. We could make up some story."

"What story?"

"There will be time to think of that once we are at the inn. Now, you are of course eager to be out of the house."

"Very well," sighed the duke. He was so easy to manipulate, so weak of character. "I no doubt shall regret this, but I am in no mood to travel in any case. I shall inform Claude." He pause as he walked toward the door. "What has become of Benedict?"

"I do not know, brother. Perhaps you should leave a message for him."

"Yes, I shall do so. He can join us later. This is the devil's business, Arragon. I do not know what to say to Claude. He is quite heart-broken."

"Indeed."

Once having effected the move to the Blue Oyster, I set about making inquiries about Boracton. I learned from the tapster that he had seen Boracton drinking deeply last night in the company of Mr. Conrad. Conrad. I recollected that he had not been present at the wedding, that I had not seen him all day. Perhaps the two of them were in some mischief together.

While my brother and his dear Claude brooded in their private parlor, I sat in the tap room, listening to the conversations of others. I finally heard what I was beginning to suspect to be the truth.

"Them two Bow Street Runners made a catch last night," said a large man with a red nose sitting with his companion at the table across from mine.

"What, them two fellows what came down from London asking about Mr. Conrad?"

"Aye, George Seacole told me all about how he and some others was paid by that Mr. Dogberry to keep an eye on the fellow. They caught Mr. Conrad and some other one talking libel or scandal, or something like that. Seacole wasn't sure about that part, he was all for telling me how bravely he and the others set upon the villains."

They went on to discuss George Seacole's description of the set-to, and I abruptly left the room. I went to my chamber, packed what things I most needed, and went to the stables. The game was up. Conrad and Boracton had been taken, and my doings would soon be known. Ah well, that was what made being a villain worthwhile, the risk. It was humiliating, that my plans should be upset by some country rustics, but I had, after all, successfully hoodwinked my brother and a whole host of fine ladies and gentlemen.

As I made off in the general direction of the Channel with the equipage and horses purchased with my brother's credit, I reflected that, perhaps, this was all for the best. Could anything be more humiliating than my brother's realization that he had falsely accused a young lady of wantonness? That he, who prided himself on his usefulness in the affairs of his friends, had helped his boon companion to the acutest misery? Life abroad was not all that bad, and in France I would be quite at leisure to think up new ways to disgrace the Duke of Donpedron. All in all, everything had gone quite well.

Revenge was sweet indeed.


	32. Boys, Apes, Braggarts Claude

**2**

**Claude**

For a man crossed in love, there is no comfort. I thought this as I sat in the private parlor at the inn, thinking on the morning's events. It was so unfair, so unjust! What had I done to deserve Hero's treachery? Ill-luck, I supposed, but she had seemed so perfect! Her wide, innocent eyes, her blushes, her sweet smile…It was even now difficult to believe that she could have been so lost to goodness. But there was proof! She had been consorting with Arragon's valet, without a doubt. After all I had offered her, my name, my fortune, my devotion, she had preferred a common servant to me.

I wanted desperately to be away. I would stay at the Duke's house in London, or perhaps I would retire to my own estate. Yes, the quiet of country life might sooth my wounded soul. I would invite the Duke to visit me at Florce Park and I would settle down to manage things like a proper landed gentleman.

As I was weaving these thoughts, the door opened, and Donpedron and Benedict walked in.

"Look who I found wandering about the streets!" said the Duke jovially, clapping Benedict on the back. "I've just been telling Benedict that he ought to come with us to London as soon as we are off."

"And I have been telling His Grace that I have promised Lord Messington to stay at least another week," said Benedict in a tone of ill-humor. While Donpedron took a seat, Benedict remained standing, propping his shoulders against the mantelpiece, and glowering at the room in general.

"Lord Messington? I'll wager it was someone else you promised and someone of the female sex," teased the Duke.

"Yes, Benedict, have you exchanged any words with a certain lady of late?" I joined in, finding vent for my turmoil of emotions in this subject of amusement. Benedict scowled at me.

"I suppose you refer to Miss Ponard," he grated out, "since, after all, the only other lady is dead."

It was true then! No longer a rumor, but an established truth. Hero was dead; and though I was sure she deserved it, I was sorry for it. Her poor father, so fond of her, and all her friends and family! Both her life and her death had been tragedies. Neither Donpedron nor myself could find anything to say to this.

"Lord Florce," said Benedict stiffly and formally after some moments had passed. "I would like to speak to you. Privately."

"Surely you can have nothing to say to me that would not be of general interest," I said lightly, trying to cover my alarm at the look on his face. Grim, that was how it appeared. It was the expression he had sometimes worn in the war, an expression I had never thought to see again. He was a jesting man, a man who made game of others and who was in turn the object of others' jests. But anyone who had ever seen Benedict Pade in battle knew that he had depths of seriousness and determination belied by his witty speeches.

"Will you oblige me or will you not?"

"If you are so set on it, I shall hear you. Your Grace, I beg that you will refrain from listening while Benedict and I converse in this corner of the room."

"Oh very well, I shall become absorbed in this newspaper," said the Duke with a wave of his hand. "I do hope you shall share the joke with me, Benedict, once you have done telling it to Claude."

Benedict pulled me roughly aside and said in a low voice, "You have slandered a decent lady, Florce, and I shall not let the act go unchallenged. Meet me when you please, where you please, and with what you please, or I shall proclaim you a coward."

"What?"

"You heard me."

I could scarce believe it! My own friend, challenge me to a duel? It was ridiculous! And Benedict, of all people, who didn't care the snap of his fingers for ladies' reputations! Why should he champion Hero, a girl he had affected to dislike? Perhaps it was for Beatrice's sake, but then again, I couldn't imagine Benedict doing such a thing simply to advance in Beatrice's good graces. I laughed uneasily.

"Good joke, Benedict," I said as carelessly as I could. I moved away from him and back towards the Duke.

"Ah, was it very good? Do share," commanded Donpedron. Benedict was still at the far end of the room, looking at me in a way that made me quite uncomfortable.

"Not worth repeating, Your Grace," I said.

"His wits have gone begging these past few days, to be sure," mused the Duke. "Come, Benedict, I shall tell you of a conversation I had with Miss Ponard the other day. She was abusing you mightily. I protested that you had a fine wit. She replied in the affirmative, that it was a fine, thin wit. I again protested that you had a good wit, and she said yes, it was good, because it hurt nobody. But when all was said, she sighed and said that you were a gentleman like no other." He laughed at his own words, and I joined him, though my heart was not in it. Benedict's face was motionless, no laughter, no anger, just a rigid impassivity.

"Quite amusing," he said. "However, I really have no interest to discuss Miss Ponard with either of you. Lord Florce, I see you are not going to oblige me now; therefore I will wait upon your answer. Do not make me wait too long." He bowed to the Duke, and left us.

"What was that all about?" asked the Duke, a crease in his brow.

"He called me out," I said.

"Called you out? He must have been funning!" The Duke's astonishment was as great as my own.

"He did not seem in a funning mood. I believe he was serious."

"But why?"

"He says I have slandered the name of a decent lady and must be held to account."

"But surely he doesn't think we made all that up!" protested Donpedron, his eyes narrowing. "He wouldn't believe that of his friends."

"I am not sure that he considers us his friends anymore," I pointed out. "You saw how he acted, as if we were mere acquaintances of his rather than old companions."

"It must be for Beatrice's sake," said the Duke with some awe in his voice. "It seems so out of character, though. He must truly love her."

"I don't see why loving Beatrice should make him suddenly question my character," I said rather crossly. "And yours, I might add."

"That's not it," the Duke shook his head. "I don't think it has to do with whether he believes us or not. This is about proving to Beatrice that he cares more about her than about his friendship with us."

"I don't understand. Why should he have to prove anything of the sort?"

"Because Beatrice is the sort of woman who would demand proof," he replied, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Anyway, shall you meet him?"

"I suppose I must," I said reluctantly. "But not here. There's been scandal enough in this town. I shall send him a note asking him to come up to London if he wishes to meet me. Let's be off as soon as we can."


	33. Boys, Apes, Braggarts Verges

**3**

**Verges**

My partner and I were naturally very eager to tell Lord Messington of our discovery before the wedding was performed, but it was not to be. I wouldn't wish to be disrespectful of the nobility, but I must say that they are uncommonly preoccupied with their own affairs and don't think it beneath themselves to tell their butlers to bar people the house. Our encounter with my lord's butler was brief and brutal. Short of entering the house by force, there was really nothing we could do. And according to my friend Dogberry, it simply was against proper decency to enter a man's house against his will. I felt it necessary to protest this sentiment.

"But, Dogberry, are we not authorized to enter houses when a crime is involved?"

He appeared to ponder this for a moment before replying. "If a criminal is in the house, we must certainly contempt an entry. But, in this case, the criminals are safe in the jail. So, there is no just antecedent for entering Messington Manor without his lordship's leave."

"But then, is it not our duty to inform the parents of Horace Conrad of him being locked up? Our assignment was to look after him and report to Sir James and Lady Conrad."

"We will reform them after we have sounded out the knaves!"

The local Justice of the Peace, a Mr. Hugh Rivenham of Meadowside House, sat in state as we appeared at the courtroom that afternoon. Mr. Conrad and that fellow Boracton, guarded on either side, sat at a low table at one side of the room while my partner and I took our place at the other. George Seacole and his fellows were present as well.

"Let us begin," said Mr. Rivenham. "Who are the malefactors?"

"That would be myself and my friend Verges," replied Dogberry, giving me a nudge in the ribs."

"I thought you were Bow Street Runners."

"Aye, that we are, as pretty a pair of malefactors as Bow Street can offer!"

Mr. Rivenham's eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment, and then his face relaxed. "Very well, then. If you be the malefactors, which are the criminals?"

"Those two there!" said Dogberry, pointing. Mr. Rivenham thanked him and took down the names of Horace Conrad and Phillip Boracton.

"Now, of what do these men stand accused?" Dogberry opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Rivenham quickly specified that one of the witnesses, namely George Seacole, should be the one to give the accusation.

"First, Mr. Boracton said that Mr. Arragon was a villainous rogue who had –"

"Call a gentleman a villainous rogue! You slanderer!" Dogberry interposed, aroused to passion.

"Mr. Seacole, pray continue," said Mr. Rivenham. When Seacole had told the whole of his tale, Mr. Rivenham went on to question two other of the watchmen, who confirmed the truth of what Seacole had said.

"I find Philip Boracton guilty of conspiracy to slander," concluded Mr. Rivenham. "This peculiar conspiracy has led to the accusation of Lady Hero, who is reported to have dropped dead of shock upon the hearing of it this morning. Due to the unusual nature of this affair, I will take Boracton to confess his tale to Lord Messington before taking further legal action. Mr. Conrad, however, appears to be guiltless of any crime."

"Not guilty?" cried Dogberry, astounded. "A man found in the company of an infirmed criminal must surely be guilty of some evil! A fellow is known by the company he keeps, after all!"

Mr. Conrad, who had been made sour by an evening spent in a jail cell designed for a class lower than his own, retorted "You are an ass!"

I could hear Dogberry suck in his breath as Boracton was led out of the room by Mr. Rivenham. My partner rounded on Mr. Conrad with a fury.

"Don't you have any suspect for my place? No suspect for my age? If Mr. Rivenham were only here to write it down! To write me down an ass! Do not forget, friends, that I am an ass! I shall be sure to mention it to Lady Conrad when I send her our report! Me, an ass! Jeremiah Dogberry, a Bow Street Runner, a clever fellow, a man of contortedly good character, and as fine a man as any, an ass!"

"Come now, Dogberry, don't heed it," I begged. "Let us follow Mr. Rivenham and make our report to Lord Messington, and then we can speak to this fellow's parents. Kill two birds with one stone, isn't that how it goes?"

He came along, but muttered about asses under his breath the whole way.


	34. Boys, Apes, Braggarts Donpedron

**4**

**Donpedron**

I was surprised, when I went to inform my brother of our intended departure, to find that he had left the inn. Upon further inquiry, I was able to discover that he had driven off in a hired vehicle; hired, of course, at my expense. The manner of his leaving did not astonish me, for it was just the sort of shabby way in which he tended to conduct his affairs, but the reason for his departure was unexplained. I sought out Claude, who agreed that my brother's actions prompted some investigation. Therefore, we descended upon the taproom to see if any of its inhabitants had spoken to Arragon that day.

But just as an old man of questionable sobriety was telling us that he knew Arragon to be a queer chap from the moment of laying eyes on him, there was a great commotion in the doorway. From the way in which men were beginning to push their way through this aperture and to crowd about the windows, which faced the street, I collected that something momentous was occurring outside.

"Very likely a cart of cabbages has overturned," I said lightly to Claude, whose face appeared a mixture of gloom and distraction. "Shall we venture a glimpse?"

I followed the old man over to the window and managed to find an open space. Claude shuffled behind me. I glanced out, seeing a group of men walking down the road, two of them holding firmly onto another, whose hands were apparently bound. The scene was unremarkable; very likely a thief had been caught, or some such thing. But as I looked a bit closer, I perceived that the bound man was none other than my brother's valet.

"Claude!" I exclaimed. "That is Boracton!"

"Boracton?" he asked indifferently. Then, as the name sunk in, he ground his teeth and looked up at me. "That scurvy fellow? But why has he been arrested?"

"I don't know, but I do think we ought to find out," I said, a horrible thought beginning to take shape in my mind. "Come, let us catch them!"

It took considerable effort, but the two of us did manage to force our way through the crowd, and we did overtake the group as it began to move out of the town and down the road toward Messington Manor. As I struggled to catch my breath, Claude stopped the most gentlemanly person of the group and inquired as to the reason for Boracton's arrest.

"And who might you be, sir?" the gentleman asked, eyes narrowed.

"I am Lord Florce," replied Claude, "and I want to know this man's crime!"

"Oh, Lord Florce, is it? Well, then, I suppose you've a right to know. My name is Rivenham, sir, Mr. Hugh Rivenham, and I am a Justice of the Peace."

"We are very pleased to meet you, Mr. Rivenham," I said in some haste. "My name is Donpedron, and we are both in some measure connected with this fellow."

"Your Grace," he made his bow, "I am sure you are. I must tell you that Mr. Boracton has been found guilty of a conspiracy to slander Lady Hero Lydal."

My heart sank, but as I looked at Claude, I could see that these words had affected him even more greatly. His face pale, he opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to speak. I was forced to speak for him.

"Explain this, please explain," I asked. Just then, one of the men of the party, who had been eagerly listening to this exchange, entered the conversation.

"I bid Your Grace good day," he began. "My name is Dogberry, and I hail from Bow Street. You would be honored if I would explain to you just how this dangerous criminal was reprehended. Firstly, this villain was underheard speaking of his wicked role in slandering a young lady's deputation. To conclude, he remitted to having spoken beneath Lady Hero's window to her maidservant, who had resumed the lady's name. Fourth and lastly, he was omissioned to do this dastardly deed by Mr. John Arragon, who paid him well for his services. And secondly, the men under my authority set upon this man at night and took him into custard."

It took some time for Claude and I to comprehend this speech. Rivenham, somewhat amused, gave us time to consider the meaning of it before he went on.

"I am taking this man to confess to Lord Messington before further action is instigated," he said. A shrewd glance at Claude, and then he added, "Perhaps Your Grace and Your Lordship would wish to accompany us?"

Claude nodded and I thanked the gentleman with some effort. Falling into step behind the group, we made our way toward the manor.

"It wasn't Hero," said Claude at last, numbly. "It was the maid, playacting. And I fell for it."

"We both fell for it," I said, feeling incredibly mortified. "I am as much to blame as you. My brother – My God, was there ever a more cruel joke?"

"I killed her."

"My boy, you take too much blame!" I expostulated. "We were hoaxed, bamboozled, but we did it out of good intent! Anybody would have done as much!"

"I am not so sure of that," he murmured. He would not look at me. "Whatever I thought, I should not have accused her so publicly as I did. Had I approached the matter differently, she might not be dead."

"It was a natural reaction," I said, trying to in some way alleviate his pain.

"When I meet with Benedict, I shall let him kill me," was his far from encouraging response.

We were kept waiting in the hall of Messington Manor for only a few moments. The butler, clearly disapproving of such a motley assemblage of persons, silently led us into the library, where the Earl was going over some papers. He rose as we entered, a look of bewilderment on his face. As Rivenham said his piece, interrupted at times by the irrepressible Dogberry, comprehension and wonder dawned on his face. He did not deign to look at either Claude or myself until the whole story was told.

"I thank you for your services," he said at last. "I wish you would take this fellow," he looked viciously at Boracton, "away, and do what you will with him. I'm of half a mind to send Meg with you."

"My lord," said Boracton, with a bow. "She was an unwitting actor in the crime."

"Hmph," replied Messington. "Mr. Rivenham, you and your – ah – acolytes may leave."

They began to file out, but Mr. Dogberry lingered behind. He approached the earl, executed a bow, and said,

"I thank you, my lord, for all your rapaciousness. I beseech you to exercise the utmost tediousness in the matter at hand. Accept my dumbfound wishes for your health and happiness." He would have gone on, but was at this juncture most unceremoniously pushed out of the room by Mr. Rivenham. Claude and myself were left alone with the earl.

"Well, Your Grace, to what do I owe the great honor of your presence?" Messington asked, in a tone of sarcasm that I had never thought the kindly old man capable of achieving.

"Lord Florce and myself have come to offer our apologies," I answered, feeling fully the humiliation that he wished me to suffer. "We have nothing to say in our defense except that we were deceived." The earl looked skeptical. I was somewhat startled when Claude lowered himself to his knees and looked pleadingly up at the earl.

"My lord, I cannot be more sorry than I am. Indeed, my grief is too much for me!" he said, tears beginning to stream down his face. I'm not sure that such histrionics were necessary, but they certainly did the trick. I could see that Messington's expression was beginning to soften and I felt quite moved myself.

"You have lost a daughter to death," he continued, "but I have lost the woman I loved, knowing it was my own doing, however it may be that I was misled! I will accept any punishment you may choose to exact of me, though nothing can punish me as does my sorrow and regret. I am wholly at your mercy."

He hung his head low. Lord Messington hemmed and hawed for a few moments before helping the lad to his feet.

"Well, it was a nasty business," he said, "and you are not fully to blame. Still, the uncovering of the truth has not brought my daughter back to life. I will ask of you reparations, as you suggest. Hero was my only heir; and now that she is dead, I must settle my estates on someone else. I have few relations in the world, but a cousin's daughter, of whom I am fond, comes to mind. Marry her in Hero's stead, and let things be as they were between us."

Claude gaped. I myself thought it an odd turn, but upon further reflection, it did make some sense. No doubt the girl was an antidote whom Messington had been trying to get married off for some time. Not much luck for Claude, but if she was to inherit the earl's estate, he really couldn't complain. In some ways it was more a honeyfall than a punishment for him. Claude managed to recover his composure quickly.

"I shall do as you wish, if the lady is willing," he said with a bow. I was glad that he accepted his fate so readily. Messington had fair grounds for making the deception of both myself and Florce known to the world, and I at least would find no comfort for my mortification in a tarnished reputation.

"I will send for my cousin at once, so that you may meet her," said Messington. "I ask that you will return to my roof as soon as possible. The scandal has already spread, but resumed amity may make appearances somewhat better. My cousin lives not ten miles away, and may arrive here tomorrow afternoon."


	35. Too Wise to Woo Peacably: Benedict

_Thanks, everyone, for your patience! My apologies for not having updated this in forever! I have been working overseas, without much spare time, but I hope that I will quickly finish this up now that I am home and have several weeks before I start working again. queeneleni_

C**hapter Nine: _Too Wise to Woo Peaceably_**

**1**

**Benedict**

Upon my return to Messington, I immediately went to the garden terrace to smoke a cigarillo. What nerves I had were frayed considerably, and I needed time alone to reflect upon the outrageous fix I was in. I was in no mood to sympathize with Lord Messington, gossip with Lady Conrad, or even to play backgammon with Mr. Olden. And merely thinking about Beatrice was pushing me over the brink of sanity; confronted with her presence, it was likely that I should lose command over myself entirely.

What the deuce had she done to me? In one day I had witnessed a fine piece of drama, confessed me love, had it requited, then spurned, and now I had just challenged my close friend to a duel. I was tired and wanted nothing better than to retire to bed then and there. But I knew that sleep would be far from me. All I could think about was that frustrating girl and the fool she had made out of me.

She had sounded sincere in her profession of love, and indeed, I had no cause to doubt it. It must have been as hard for her to admit her love for me as it was for me to admit my love for her. We had both made such a show of hating and despising each other for the past seven years, that to renew our affections would no doubt stimulate the world's ridicule. She never would have given me the smallest hint that she loved me if it were not really so. But I was beginning to have my doubts. Might I have been misled? On further reflection, the story I had overheard from Claude, Donpedron, and Messington seemed rather incongruous with what I knew of Beatrice's character. I had been so eager to credit the truth of their words, because they were what I wanted to hear. But Beatrice, sighing and weeping over me? Beatrice, overcome with emotion and driven to despair for my sake? It was not really credible, I knew, and perhaps I had known it all along. It was possible that the whole thing was a hoax, just the sort of thing my erstwhile friends would have thought a splendid good joke to play on me.

Yet Beatrice would have had to be in on the joke, too, wouldn't she? It was difficult for me to believe that she would use the circumstance of her cousin's shame to trick me into believing that she loved me when she really did not. She was, of course, a veritable harpy, but she was not devoid of conscience. So she had been truthful in her confession of love… hadn't she? I was beginning to doubt everything. The more I tried to think through the events of the day, the more confused in mind I became. Perhaps everything was a hoax, perhaps it was all one giant attempt to befuddle Benedict Pade. As ridiculous as such an idea sounded, it was more believable than the truth, whatever that was. The line between fact and fiction was blurring before my eyes, and I wondered why it was so impossible for people to be honest with each other.

My thoughts were eventually interrupted by that pert maid who always seemed to be where a lady's maid had no business being. She was carrying a pile of linens, but why she was carrying them out into the garden, I had no idea. Most likely she was snooping.

"Mary – Martha – Margaret, whoever you are, you will please fetch Miss Ponard for me," I called out to her. I felt calm enough to speak reasonably to Beatrice now, and I wanted to observe her reaction to the news that I had called Claude out. The maid may as well make herself useful. The young woman sniffed and said, "As you please, sir," in an abominably condescending tone of voice.

"Well, I do please!" I said irritably. "Go and call her!"

"I will call Miss Ponard, who I think has ears and legs enough," she replied, starting to move away, but casting a saucy look over her shoulder as she did so.

"And therefore will come," I said. This girl clearly needed a set-down. She was far too assuming for her station. "Since when have you set yourself up as a wit?"

"Since Miss Ponard abandoned her wit," the maid (Meg, I now recall, was her name). "Although she is as hard to please as ever, her skill for turning words has quite abandoned her. She spends most of her time sulking these days."

"And so you have decided that now is the time to let your own wit shine," I said. "A pleasant notion, but be careful with whom you spar. There are some whose wits are sharper than yours, and you would not want to get hurt."

"Ha!" was all she said before leaving the garden. I was slipping; yes, certainly my wits were slipping. There had been a time when I could have crushed such impertinence in one pithy sentence; now even the maid scorned my abilities. Beatrice had much to answer for.

As I waited, I tried to discover just why I loved the blasted woman. She was beautiful, of course, and not just in the common way. But that wasn't it, for I had met many beautiful girls in my time, and I had never wished to wed any excepting Beatrice. Come to think of it, I was not so sure I wanted to marry even her; what an uncomfortable thing it would be to be married to a woman who fired up every time a man said something not quite to her liking. But, then again, life would never be dulled if I were shackled to her. Was that why I loved her? Because she was a spark of intelligence and exasperating willfulness in a world of dull and demure females? Or was it her steadfast devotion to those she cared for? I had not considered this aspect of her character before, but it had forcibly struck me in her defense of her young cousin. She would stand by those she loved despite any circumstance. Her nature was fiercely loyal; perhaps that was why she had been so infuriated by what she clearly viewed as my "betrayal" of her. I had not been worthy of such devotion, I knew that now, and probably I still was not worthy of it. But I hoped I was older and wiser now, and I could value such devotion far better than I could seven years ago. Yes, I did love that about her. Her devotion, her brightness, her sharp wit, the way her eyes could dance in laughter while the rest of her face remained perfectly sober, like stars… Good God, I was becoming poetic. How revolting.

So I gave up trying to explain to myself why I loved Beatrice, and instead began to wonder if and why she loved me. Such ponderings were even more fruitless and considerably less comforting. I was relieved when Beatrice herself walked into the gardens to put an end to my musings.

"Good afternoon, Beatrice," I said, hastily throwing the stub of my cigarillo into the bushes. I walked to her side and indicated a bench where we could sit. She would not be seated, however. She looked up at me, searching my face with those brilliant eyes, eyes which were tired and sober now. She had been with Hero, most likely, trying to comfort the girl, and probably having a very unpleasant time of it. She said nothing.

"Will you not stay, Beatrice?" I asked, once again indicating the bench.

"Perhaps for awhile, until I have heard what I came to hear," she said, still refusing to sit. She clasped her hands together, and continued to look fixedly at me.

"Stay until then."

" 'Then' is spoken, and so I depart," she said, a small smile lighting her face. She turned as if to go, but looked back as I called her name.

"Yet I will not go without that I came for," she said, the smile fading. "What has passed between you and Claude?"

"Nothing but foul words," I said, as lightly as I could, and stepping closer to her. "And for the trouble I took over them, I think I deserve a kiss." And after all, didn't I?

Beatrice, however, did not think so. She dodged my effort and stepped away. "Foul words are but foul air, and foul air is but foul breath, and foul breath I find repulsive. Therefore, I will depart unkissed." And then it seemed as if she really would leave me, so I reached out to grab her arm. Naturally, she attempted to pull away, but the fact that she refrained from kicking my shins gave me hope that she would stay to listen to me.

"Wait, Beatrice, before you go off on your high ropes!" I commanded. "I have exchanged words with Claude to the effect that he undergoes my challenge. If I do not hear from him presently, his cowardice shall be established. Does that not satisfy you?"

She ceased to struggle, but turned and looked again at me. The burden she carried in her eyes seemed to lighten; she smiled benignly, carefully removed her arm from my weakened grasp upon it, and sat down primly on the edge of the bench.

"I think I can spare a few moments to converse with you, Sir Benedict," she said.


	36. Too Wise to Woo Peacably: Beatrice

**2**

**Beatrice**

After two hours spent with my cousin, I was in a state of consternation. I did not know what to do with her. She had taken up residence in a room in a remote part of the house, and she simply laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. She had ceased her weeping and was now in a state of dejection. In vain I tried to tell her that Claude was not worth regretting; in vain I tried to tell her that she was better off without him. She did not care for my opinion.

"If you think I can stop caring about him simply because he treated me ill, you have never loved, Beatrice," she said calmly and without looking at me.

"Hero! You'd only been engaged to him a week, surely it was not love but a passing fancy!" And yet I knew she was quite right. One did not stop caring about a man just because he had ill-treated one.

"I know you think I'm too young to feel it so deeply. I know you think that I should be more concerned about my ruined reputation than my broken relations with Claude. I know you think I'm being foolish. So there isn't any more to say."

She spoke in a resigned tone, one I had never heard from her before. I had thought her foolish, but I realized now that she was no more fool than I. Less so, because at least she was being honest. I sat down on the side of her bed and took her limp, cold hand.

"This idea of feigning your death is absurd," I said.

"Yes, but I don't mind it."

"Hero, if it should be proved that this was all a mistake, that Claude was somehow innocent of malicious lies, if he begged your pardon and still wished to marry you, would you? Would you take him back?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, if he loved me."

"But Hero, this would always be between you. Could you truly forgive him for such a vile thing?"

"Trixie," said Hero, finally looking at me, "Do you love Sir Benedict?"

This was an unexpected question, so unexpected that I answered it honestly.

"Yes."

"Even though he treated you ill seven years ago, you can forgive him and be happy with him?"

"Hero, it is not the same thing!" I expostulated.

"I think it is very similar, Trix. And I think I must tell you something. I am sick of lies and tricks and deceit."

"What do you mean?"

"You overheard Ursula and me talking," Hero stated.

"Yes, but – what do you mean, Hero?" I demanded. And then the whole story came out, of the amusing hoax that the Duke of Donpedron had contrived to make Benedict and myself fall madly in love with each other. I was too astonished at first to say anything; but after Hero had sighed and said that it felt good to make a clean breast of it, I found myself able to speak long and heatedly. However, after only five seconds of my thundering speech, I stopped. Hero had been hurt beyond endurance, and for me to scold her for her part in a trick that I had been stupid enough to fall for was cruel and thoughtless. So I curbed my cursed tongue.

"But you still love him, in spite of everything," said Hero, faintly, with the shadow of a smile. "If you hadn't loved him in the first place, you would never have fallen for the bait."

"If you can assure me that it was the same way with him, I would be grateful," I said tartly.

"I'm sure it was, Trix."

"I asked him to kill Claude," I confessed, since confessions seemed the order of the day.

"What? Oh, Trix, you did not!" It was the first sign of animation in her, and it gave me hope that she would recover from this unnaturally lethargic state.

"I mean, I asked him to challenge Claude to a duel. I shouldn't worry, Hero, I doubt it will come to anything."

"Do you mean he agreed to it?"

"Well, he did seem to, but ten to one, he changed his mind," I said despondently. Although I had been impressed by his words, I had difficulty believing that he would really carry them out.

So, when I met him in the garden, and he told me that he had indeed called Claude out, and when I saw that rare, earnest look on his face, I would gladly have granted upon him a thousand kisses. Of course, he didn't know that, and it was just as well, for I don't believe in encouraging the egotism of men.

I sat down and asked him what he was doing out in the garden.

"Wondering," he said, sitting beside me, "why the devil I love you so much."

"Well, that is a worthy occupation," I said, inwardly quite pleased with this, but determined not to show it. "So tell me, sir, for which of my excellent qualities did you first suffer love for me?"

" 'Suffer' is quite the most apt word I could find for it," he said, as if he had discovered something great. "I do indeed suffer love, for I love you entirely against my will."

"Even in spite of your heart?" I queried. "Poor heart! I think I have it in me to pity you."

"And so you ought," he muttered. "But tell me, Beatrice, for which of my bad qualities did you first suffer love for me?"

"For them all together," I replied instantly, "which maintained such a state of evil that no good quality could shine through. What reputation I had will surely be ruined when it is discovered what a villainous character I have bound myself to."

He laughed under his breath and said, "I think we are too wise to woo peaceably, my sweet harpy."

"I may be, but I doubt wisdom has anything to do with it in your case. After all, a wise man does not call himself wise, does he?"

"Perhaps that is so, or was so," he acknowledged. "But in these modern times, Miss Ponard, with every second man and woman setting up to be a great wit, a truly wise man must openly confess his wisdom to the world, or be in danger of being unheard amidst the clamor. And so I will proclaim my own virtues, for I dare not hope that you, or any other, will proclaim them for me."

"But how can you proclaim your own virtues when you have none?" I asked, in my most guileless tone of voice. It was so pleasant to be able to let oneself speak absurdities without restraint in this fashion. Perhaps that was why I loved Benedict; I never had to repress myself when I was in his company. I could say anything I wanted, and he would never scold me for being indiscreet or unladylike.

"You," he said now, a gleam in his eye, "had better watch your tongue, Miss Ponard."

"Or what, Sir Benedict?"

He took one of my hands in his and leaned in close to me. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I was deciding whether or not I should let him, when he raised his other hand to gently stroke my hair.

"How fares your cousin?" he asked, in a quiet voice devoid of his usual sportiveness. I was surprised; I had not previously believed that concern for the well-being of others constituted a part of Benedict's character.

"Very ill," I managed to say.

"And how do you fare, Beatrice?"

"Very ill," I whispered.

"Serve God," he said, softly kissing my forehead, "love me," kissing my cheek, "and mend."

Our lips had just barely touched when Ursula's voice called out my name. We jerked away from each other and stood, and turned to where Ursula was rather hastily making her way toward us. She stopped when she saw the two of us together.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, blushing. "But, I had to come – Beatrice, the whole thing has been discovered to be a hoax. Lord Florce and the Duke were tricked – well, I cannot explain it all, you had better come and hear it for yourself. The important thing is that Hero's name has been cleared of any scandal!"

"Oh, Ursula!" I cried. "I will come at once, of course." She went back into the house. I turned to Benedict, who was looking a little confused but greatly relieved. "Benedict, will you come to hear this news?"

"I would go to the end of the earth with you," he said, taking my hand, "but, presently, I will go with you into the house."


	37. Too Wise to Woo Peacably Ursula

**3**

**Ursula**

I was, naturally, very sorry to have interrupted what appeared to have been a promising _conversation_ between Sir Benedict and Beatrice. It would seem that our little farce had had its affect, but I was beginning to wonder if it had even been necessary. Perhaps they would have come about on their own. In any case, what was done was done, and this relationship at least seemed to be a success.

Not so, I thought, for poor Hero and Claude. This whole affair had shattered whatever affection I had ever cherished for Lord Florce; some part of his behavior could be excused on the grounds of youth and immaturity, but how old must a man be before he must be held to certain standards of proper conduct? Even if he had been deceived, there was no excusing his malicious and public accusations of a girl he had claimed to love. Apparently, Lord Messington, and, I supposed, the male populace of Messington Manor in general, did not see things in this light.

I heard of the great news first from Letty and Lotta. Mr. Thaster and I had spent quite a long time chatting to each other, and I had become so absorbed in our conversation that I had quite lost track of the time. Thinking that it must soon be time for dinner, I had alerted Mr. Thaster to the lateness of the hour, and we had returned to the house. After walking up the stairs, we were about to depart to our respective bedchambers when my sisters came bounding down the hallway, clearly eager to see me.

"You cannot guess what has happened!" exclaimed Letty. "It's all a hoax!"

"What is?" I asked, somewhat embarrassed at the way the two of them were bouncing up and down.

"The accusations against Hero, of course! It was all Mr. Arragon's doing!" said Lotta.

"He arranged it so the Duke and Lord Florce would see Hero's maid talking to his valet out Hero's window!"

"And so they thought it was Hero having a conversation with her lover!"

"And Mr. Arragon told them all sorts of lies!"

"But some Bow Street Runners found out about it!"

"And all has been revealed!"

"And so Lord Florce came to beg forgiveness and to ask any punishment!"

"And Lord Messington said he is to marry some young cousin of his who is now his heir," concluded Letty. "Apparently, she lives quite close and is to come tomorrow to be married to Lord Florce. I've never heard of her, have you?"

"No," I said mechanically, knowing very well that no such person existed. "Where did you two hear all this?"

"From one of the housemaids," said Lotta.

"Well, go to your room and dress for dinner, if you please," I said. "But tell me, how long ago did this all happen?"

"Oh, less than an hour, I daresay," said Letty, "I don't think everyone even knows yet." They went off to their room, clearly disappointed by my lack of raptures. I turned to Mr. Thaster.

"Such news," I said.

"Yes," he replied. "I think you were confirmed in your suspicions."

So he had also guessed that this "young cousin" was most likely Hero herself. But the middle of the hall was no place for discussing such matters.

"I must see if Beatrice has heard of this," I said, and took my leave of him.

It took me some time to learn that Beatrice had gone out into the gardens; I pulled this out of Meg, who I met scurrying out of Lord Messington's study looking quite cast down. Her treachery had been discovered, I supposed, and she was probably going to be turned off. She told me, upon my inquiring, that Miss Ponard had gone off to tryst with Sir Benedict in the gardens. I doubted part of this statement, but, as I found out, it was quite true.

"Where is my uncle, do you know?" asked Beatrice, as she followed behind me with Sir Benedict and I related to her what I had heard from my sisters.

"I think he is in his study. I saw Meg coming out of the study looking rather dismayed not ten minutes ago. I don't know where the Duke and Lord Florce have gone off to, if they have returned to the Manor or if they went back to the inn."

"If my uncle has invited them back to this house - !" she said under her breath. She stopped as we neared the door to the study. "Very well, I shall go to him and have the truth from his lips. I will see you both at dinner."

I was left with Sir Benedict as Beatrice entered the study and closed the door firmly behind her. Sir Benedict looked thoughtful, but there was a gleam of appreciative amusement in his eyes.

"If the gentlemen are in the house," he said, "I would not like to be in Lord Messington's shoes."

"No, indeed," I agreed. "And if they are in the house, I hope they will not come down to dinner. What an awkward meal it would be!"

"If Lord Florce values his life, he will not come anywhere near Beatrice for the rest of his life," said Sir Benedict. We then went to dress for dinner.

As it happened, the Duke and the Viscount had returned to the house, but they had sense enough not to come down to dinner. As the rest of us gathered in the saloon five minutes before dinner, Lord Messington explained to everyone the recent discovery and invited us all to attend the nuptials of his cousin's daughter to Lord Florce on the morrow.

"It will of course be a very quiet and private matter," he said, "To have a marriage in the midst of mourning is a sad affair. But I thought it best that the knot be tied as soon as may be."

I could have laughed, for it was clear that at least half the occupants of the room had no belief whatsoever in the existence of the young cousin. Perhaps my sisters were the only ones who lacked so much intelligence. Lady Conrad begged that her husband and herself might be excused; she explained that they intended to leave Messington in the morning, as family business required their urgent attention. No doubt this business was a matter of dealing with their criminal offspring, but nobody was so lost to propriety as to mention this. We were all quite subdued that evening, everyone afraid to say something that might be taken badly, everyone, that is, except my sisters. The two of them rattled on in a highly carefree style, moving on from the exciting news of Arragon's sinister plot from a dress they had seen in a fashion periodical in a matter of five minutes. Normally I would have been quite pained to hear them and would have endeavored to check them, but as they were providing the only entertainment for a set of persons clearly out of curl, I decided to let them be.


	38. Too Wise to Woo Peacably Hero

**4**

**Hero**

My father came up to see me as soon as the trick had been discovered. He was quite excited about it. I sat in a chair and watched him intently, hanging on his every word as he paced up and down the room, repeating some parts of the story over and over again. My mind was in turmoil. I was, on the one hand, overjoyed that Claude had in no way desired to slander me, that he had been hoaxed, that his reason for behaving as he did was, well, reasonable. On the other hand, I could not understand why I could not that instant stop pretending to be dead. I wanted to run to Claude, who must be suffering all the misery of thinking himself to have played a part in my death, to tell him that all was well. But Papa seemed to have other plans. As he explained to me his scheme for the "substitute marriage," I became so frustrated I was almost cross with him.

"But Papa, surely he cannot have agreed to such a whimsical turn," I said. "And just as surely, there is no need for it."

"Nonsense, my dearest, he was in no position to have disagreed," he said jovially, "and I think this will give him the time to reflect, as he should, on the rashness of his actions, and the longer he thinks you dead, the more appreciative he will be to find you alive. After all, Hero, it's only for a night longer."

I was going to reply to this, but I decided not to. I felt as if I had grown up years in the past hours, and I no longer felt the impulse to pour out all my feelings with my father. I loved Papa dearly, of course, and I always shall, but something had changed. I felt as if I couldn't _trust_ him as I once had. Left alone in this remote room, I had had too much time to reflect on the morning's events, and images of my father's treatment of me when he believed me to be lost to all goodness kept recurring. I felt as if he had in some way betrayed me, and my perception of him as a faultless protector on whom I could depend for my every whim and fancy had been seriously marred. So I said nothing. I smiled and nodded, and waited for him to go away.

I was alone again for some time, until one of the maids brought up my dinner on a tray. I noticed that it wasn't Meg, and wondered if she had been dismissed. I didn't feel animosity toward her, I'm sure she hadn't borne any to me, and likely she had mistaken the whole thing for a joke. And as I ate, I wondered how many of the servants knew the truth about my "death," and whether a scandal of immense proportions was in the making. Soon after the tray had been taken away, Trixie came to the room.

I was glad to see her; although our relationship had been strained the last week or so, I felt like she was the only person I could really talk to. As she walked in, I thought that she looked rather odd. Her face was comical, a mixture of happiness and frustration. She didn't seem to know whether she wanted to look congenial or aggravated.

"So, cuz, and what do you think?" she asked sitting on the side of the bed and looking pointedly at me. "Are you overwhelmed with paroxysms of joy, or are you, like me, so thoroughly befuddled by my uncle's ever-deepening machinations that confusion is the primary emotion?"

"A little of both," I said, smiling and coming to sit beside her. How I needed Trix! I rested my head on her shoulder, and she put and arm about me. "I am so happy, and so relieved, to know that happiness is not to be denied me. That Claude and I are to be married! But, Trix, I have not the slightest notion what is meant by all this secrecy."

"Nor have I," she said, frowning. "But I think perhaps that trickery and play-acting and a general lack of trust among us has just kept multiplying until nobody can draw back. We each feel we have to conceal more than the other, to put a mask over every truth we can find. And so it keeps continuing. I hope it shall end tomorrow," she ended lightly.

"So do I. Do you think less of me for still wanting to marry Claude?" I asked.

"No. Not you, Hero, you were quite right when we spoke together this afternoon. But I think the less of your father for being so eager to marry his daughter off to a man who has caused her so much pain and shown her so little respect. Your eager forgiveness is warranted; your father's is not."

I pondered it and felt it to be true; still, I did not wish to dwell on such unpleasant thoughts. I could put these things behind me and look forward to a happy future. So I changed the subject, for the conversation was fast becoming melancholy.

"And how do you, Trix?" I gave her a grin. "No doubt Sir Benedict is relieved that he will no longer have to fear being bludgeoned into calling Claude out."

She only smiled briefly before turning serious again. She said slowly, "Do you know, Hero, he did it? He did call him out. I never thought he would."

"He did? Well, I must say!" At first I felt quite indignant that anyone would dare to have designs upon Claude's life. But then I realized the import of the act. "You mean, he showed quite positively that he cares more for your opinion than for his friendship with Claude."

"Something more than my opinion was at stake," she murmured so that I could barely hear. She straightened her shoulders, and shook her head. "Insufferable man! There I was, ready to pour scorn upon him, and he completely took me by surprise and obliged me almost to melt into his arms! I could never marry someone abominably contrary."

"But I think you shall, for all that. Does Sir Benedict know about the hoax?"

"I don't know. He didn't mention it, and I think he would, if he knew. I confess, Hero," she said, a trifle nervously, "I don't know if I wish him to know of it. He is so – well, I think it might alter any desire he has to wed me."

"I doubt it."

"Well, it does no good to dwell on it. In fact, he hasn't even really proposed. So, let us speak of it no more. I am commissioned by my uncle to tell you of the plans for tomorrow. Once again, my dear, it is to be masks."


	39. This then is my conclusion Mr Thaster

**Chapter Ten: _This, then, is my Conclusion_**

**1**

**Mr. Thaster**

The morning of the second wedding opened with gray skies and a quite oppressive humidity. It was the kind of weather no lady would wish for their wedding, but I supposed that Hero, if Hero truly was to be the bride, had not been consulted in the matter. I should have been heartily sick of the affair, as any gentleman would have been, but I confess to an almost morbid interest in the whole business. And can you blame me? I had lived my forty years in the same county, among the same set of people, and with nothing more exciting to remember than the time my chicken coop was robbed. I resolved that as soon as this wedding was over and done with, I would return to my own house and quickly readjust into that staid, comfortable, and very dull life to which I was accustomed. I would be perfectly content.

Or would I? My thoughts turned to Miss Wagell and the many conversations we had had during our stay at Messington. I had to confess that the regard in which I had always held her had somehow blossomed into something more. Was it love? Love appeared to me to make people do very stupid things. One only had to witness the case of young Lord Florce, so cut up over Lady Hero's supposed infidelity that he behaved in a way most unbecoming to a gentleman. One considered Sir Benedict and Miss Ponard and that most uncomfortable tension that was always present between them. I did not think that either situation bore any resemblance to my feelings towards Miss Wagell – to Ursula, as I was beginning to think of her. In Ursula's company I was more at my ease than in any other; I felt no need to prevaricate, no need to conceal anything (except the state of my heart). She made me want to be more of a gentleman, not less of one. So was it love? If love meant affection, joy in another's company, the desire to be always with someone and to do anything possible to contribute to that person's happiness, then yes, I did love her.

Coming to this conclusion, I realized that I surely ought to ask her to marry me. I could by no means be sure of her acceptance; after all, a plain man of forty with no fortune to speak of cannot even pretend to be a desirable match for a lady of three and twenty. But if she did not love me, she liked me, and her position in her family was not precisely a happy one. I could offer her a home of her own, respect, affection, and a future free of the drudgery of spinsterhood. Yes, although the prospect did somewhat frighten me, proposing marriage would not be a hopeless matter. I did have a chance. I would do it. But I had better do it before I lost the courage.

Therefore, when I learned after breakfast that Miss Wagell had gone to the chapel to rearrange the flowers (some had wilted overnight), I sought her out. Perhaps right before a wedding, and especially such a wedding, is not the best time to make a proposal, but it seemed the most opportune occasion I would have. She was somewhat surprised to see me, but she very cordially welcomed my company and asked me if I could fetch down the flower bunches from around the candle sconces. I lost my nerve, and as I set about the task I attempted small talk.

"Are you looking forward to this wedding, Miss Wagell?" I asked.

"I wouldn't put it in precisely those terms," she said. "Naturally, I wish this to end happily for everyone. But I don't see how that can be."

"Why not?"

"If it is really this cousin who is to be married to Lord Florce, I don't see how either can be happy with a sort of 'accidental' marriage born out of deceit and tragedy. Each would always hold something against the other."

"And if Hero is not really dead? Surely that would be a happy ending."

"It would seem so. But I think in time that Hero might come to resent Lord Florce's mistrust of her. She doesn't now, of course; she is too young. But when she is older she might look back on it and think she had been ill-treated." She placed a fresh clump of roses in one of the vases behind the altar. "And then, Lord Florce might be plagued by guilt and he would always wonder whether Hero married him out of love or to hush up a scandal. No, I do not think a marriage based on such lack of trust between the principles could be expected to prosper, do you?"

"I suppose not," I replied, fishing for the cue I wanted. "A marriage ought to be between parties of equal character and intelligence, who repose respect and confidence in each other."

"Exactly so," she nodded. "And if these requirements are not met, it is better to remain single. As you yourself have done."

"Yes. But in the past I have never desired the married state." It was time to take the plunge, I thought.

"In the past?" Ursula queried. "Surely this business at Messington cannot have induced you to look upon marriage with a more kindly eye?" She smiled at the joke, obviously quite oblivious of my true meaning.

"Not this business, no. But for another reason." I took a deep breath and gripped the wilted flowers in my hand so tightly that it was a good thing they were already wilted. She was looking at me questioningly, a little oddly, I thought.

"Miss Wagell," I said, "the time I have spent in your company these last days has been most enjoyable. I have come to feel a very strong regard for you, and I would wish to – that is, well, I – I'm no good at speeches, Miss Wagell. In short, I would be greatly honored if you would consider becoming my wife."

During this speech I had been considering the floor, but now I looked up to see her reaction. Her eyes widened, and she dropped the rose she was holding. We stood staring dumbly at each other in this fashion for several full seconds before Ursula's cheeks flushed into a becoming shade of pink.

"Oh," she said. "I must say, Mr. Thaster, that I had no notion you had ever thought of such a thing."

"I know I have not been the most gallant of suitors, Miss Wagell, but you may be assured that my feelings of admiration and affection for you are both deep and strong." I could not seem to get the word _love_ out of my mouth. She blushed even more deeply.

"I am honored by these sentiments, sir," she said. "And I rather think I would like to become your wife."

I was stunned. Although I had persuaded myself that my chances were not bad, I had never seriously thought that she would agree to my proposal. After the initial shock, an overwhelming happiness took hold of me. She would marry me. I would have a wife, a friend, perhaps children. I wouldn't be alone in my old age. I walked nearer to her and took her hand.

"I love you," I blurted out in a most unromantic fashion.

"I have never been loved before," she said with a serious smile. "I am enjoying the sensation already. But we had better get back to the flowers, Mr. Thas – William."

And so we did.


	40. This then is my conclusion Claude

**2**

**Claude**

Words cannot express the agonies I went through that night. Indeed, it was impossible that I should sleep. I went to my room immediately after the interview with Lord Messington, leaving to the Duke all the arrangements of moving my things back to the Manor. He was very understanding, most sympathetic, and I'm sure his mortification was genuine. But he could not feel a tenth of my pain. I had lost my love twice over.

As I lay there, the image of Hero's face came constantly to mind. So sweet, so innocent! The events of the day seemed like some nightmare from which I longed to wait. The notion that such a girl as Hero could ever be unfaithful became ever more ridiculous, and I wondered how on earth I could have believed it. Yet I had had good cause, had I not? The Duke too had been deceived, and I rated his intelligence higher than my own. My reaction had been natural, arising out of the depth of my love for Hero. So my mind told me, but it did not stop the ache in my heart. Deep within me, something was telling me that I had committed a greater evil than mere gullibility. Donpedron had assured me that it was all an unfortunate series of misunderstandings, that I was not to blame myself for tragic events beyond my control. Even Lord Messington had been lenient towards me; was he not welcoming me into his family in spite of everything? But I doubted that Miss Ponard would so soon forgive. And as for Benedict, this affair had shown to me a different side to him, and I could no longer be sure of his good approval. Of course, the crazy idea of a duel would now come to nothing, but I did not think that relations between us would just go back to how they used to be.

And now I was to marry Messington's cousin. I saw the merit in the scheme, of course. It was a way of redeeming both my honor and Hero's, by the alliance of our families and fortunes. Still, it was disquieting to think that next day I was to marry a girl I had never met. At least I supposed we would be married, although that had not been made quite clear. At such short notice, someone would have to ride through the night to go to London and back for a new special license. Or perhaps Lord Messington would obtain a common license? I cast such trivial thoughts away, for they were insignificant compared to the depths of my misery.

After my sleepless night I got out of bed, splashed water on my face, and began to dress. I didn't go down to breakfast. It was not far gone in the morning before a knock on my chamber door heralded the entrance of the Duke. He looked keenly at me as he came in and seated himself on a chair by the window.

"How are you faring?" he asked.

"Ill," I said, giving a wan smile, "but I daresay I'll get over it."

"I spent much of last night thinking over the affair," he said, "and you know, Claude, things are really much brighter than they seem. Only consider, my dear boy. All shall be hushed up without the scandal going far beyond the household. My brother will pay dearly for this when I discover his whereabouts, and that scurvy valet of his will also have his due. You shall make an advantageous marriage, whatever else might be said of it. And as for Lady Hero," he seemed to hesitate here, as if unsure whether to continue. "She is at peace, Claude. Her name has been restored."

These were encouraging thoughts, and I must confess that they did put me in less despondent frame of mind. I was able to listen almost with sincere interest as Donpedron related to me the day's program. The girl was to arrive around one, the wedding to take place before dinner. The girl Meg had left the premises, not because her employer had released her from service, but of her own will. And Beatrice and Benedict were actually behaving rather like normal people in each other's company.

At one o'clock the Duke accompanied me to the drawing room where I was to meet the girl. Benedict and Thaster were already in the room, engaged in quiet conversation. As we entered, I saw Benedict stiffen, while Thaster cast a glance of pity my way. We all stood there silently for a few seconds before Benedict, with apparent effort, gave me a nod of acknowledgement.

"I wish you well on your wedding day," he said. "And I hope that this shall be an end to as pretty a web of confusion that I was ever in."

"I thank you," I said, attempting to be pleasant in spite of Benedict's insensitivity. Clearly he had no notion of my grief over Hero's death if all he could do was congratulate me on my marriage to a perfect stranger. But this could be excused, for Benedict never had been known to express a modicum of sensitivity. By way of lightening the mood, I said, "I hope that it will not be long before I shall be congratulating you on your own marriage."

Donpedron gave a crack of laughter at this, and Benedict seemed to relax just a trifle. "You are mistaken," he said. "It is Mr. Thaster who is to be congratulated. He has just been informing me of his recent engagement to Miss Wagell."

This news surprised me, and I could see that it surprised the Duke as well. Nobody had thought to suspect the respectably middle-aged Thaster and the plain, staid Ursula Wagell in a romantic light. Though, come to think of it, they had been spending an extraordinary amount of time in each others' company. We both congratulated Thaster quite heartily (the man was all the time beaming from ear to ear), and were thus in cheery moods when Lord Messington and Mr. Olden entered the room.

"Ah, so you are all ready," the Earl said almost jovially, rubbing his hands together. "My young cousin has arrived, and all the ladies will be here presently. Are you ready to undertake your part, Lord Florce?"

"Nothing should make me go back on my word, Lord Messington," I said with a slight bow. "I am ready to be married whenever you should wish."

"And it seems that he is not the only one," said Donpedron with a chuckle. "For here are Benedict and Thaster also very eager, it seems, to lead their ladies to the altar. Shall not you also be married today, Benedict? I would not advise you to let the chance slip away from you!"

"I don't know what you mean," said Benedict with forced politeness. "I have not announced any engagement."

"You mean you have not offered marriage? Well, Claude, we did not take that into account when we decided that the two should fall desperately in love with each other, did we? Fie upon you, Benedict, we had supposed you to be an honorable man!"

"Indeed, Benedict, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" I said, joining in on the joke, though I could see that Benedict was looking sharply at us with a by no means friendly look upon his face. "Dashing the collective hopes of all your well-wishers by refusing to give up your steadfast vow to never become a married man! And such an insult to the lady!"

"If I did mean to marry," said Benedict in a cool and deliberate voice, "I should not wish to share your wedding day, Claude. You seem to have bad luck as far as weddings are concerned."

This was more than a piece of wit; it struck me as a calculated insult, which, indeed, it must have been. It was on the tip of my tongue to retort, for he had gone too far in making my pain the subject of his mockery. But it was then that the ladies walked into the room, five of them, all masked.

It was easy to pick out Beatrice, for that flaming red hair of hers always distinguished her. But the rest were harder to make out, two with dark hair, two with lighter hair, and all of a similar height, one perhaps a bit shorter than the rest. I was completely bewildered as to the purpose of the masks, but it was soon explained to me by the Earl.

"You are not to see her face until you take her hand and promise to marry her," he said gravely, as the chaplain quietly entered from behind the ladies and stood to one side. There was no reason that I should, but I felt as if he were some kind of jailer watching to make sure I should not escape.

"Of course," I said mechanically. "And which is she that I must take?"

"This lady," Messington answered, taking the hand of the shortest lady and walking her over to where I stood. I held out my hand, and she placed hers in it. I felt her tremble at the touch.

"Lady," I said, for as yet I did not know her name, "will you take me for your husband?"

"Yes," she said softly. It was a pretty voice, and it painfully reminded me of Hero's.

"Then let me know your name, and let me see your face before we go to be married by Mr. Francis."

"My name is Hero," she said, pulling the mask away from her face.


	41. This then is my conclusion Beatrice

**3**

**Beatrice**

From my vantage point in the room I had an excellent view of Lord Florce's face. Although I was still enraged at his treatment of my cousin, the look of utter incredulity and joy that passed over his countenance did much to advance him in my good books. It seemed as though he truly saw her for the first time. It was an expression far deeper and happiness far greater than that I had seen when his engagement to Hero had been made. As exclamations burst forth from the Duke and Mr. Thaster, and as Claude continued to gaze down at Hero dumbfounded, I considered that I had perhaps misjudged the boy. He did love Hero, and that love was not necessarily a shallow one. He had felt guilt over the way he had publicly exposed Hero, though not as much as he should have. He was more stupid than wicked, and his faults were mainly due to the fact that he was too easily led by others. Well, he and Hero had a chance of it, I supposed, particularly if they could retire to Claude's estate and live there free from the stronger wills of their family and friends. I shuddered to think of such a guileless pair set loose upon London.

These reflections led to an optimistic state of mind, and I smiled beneath my mask as the happy couple finally opened their mouths.

"One Hero died in tarnished reputation, but another lives," Hero said, looking up at Claude, not as adoringly as she once had done, but nevertheless with all the love in her heart. "And as surely as I live, I have loved none but you."

"Hero," Claude breathed. He seemed incapable of saying any more, and as Hero walked into his arms, he folded her in a tight embrace, right in front of everybody.

"And now for a wedding," said my uncle, clearly overpowered by this affecting scene. "Your Grace, would you lead us to the chapel?"

"Certainly," replied the Duke, smiling broadly and making his way to the door.

"Wait," said Benedict abruptly. During this whole scene, I had been casting the occasional glance his way. He had seemed withdrawn, as if his mind was working on some problem. His interest in the happy reunion appeared to be minimal. "Since we have now established the truth behind all these mysteries and deceptions, I should like to have the truth of another matter. Beatrice, where are you?"

"Here, sir," I said, removing my mask and indicating for Ursula and her sisters to do so as well. "And what do you want with me?"

"An answer," he said simply and looking piercingly into my eyes. "Do you love me?"

The audacity of the man! How dare he! I had half a mind to box his ears. The man had no sense of propriety, not a shred of common decency! Nothing on earth would entice me to make a public declaration of love to a man I had convinced the world that I despised. Had he no concern for my pride? Clearly he had none! As if, after the way I had been hoaxed, I would give this set of people the satisfaction of knowing how easily I had been duped! But then, he was not aware of the hoax. Or was he?

"No," I said with a forced titter of a laugh. His eyes bore holes into me as they narrowed. "No more than what is reasonable," I amended. "Do you love me?"

"Why, of course not," he replied instantly, his expression lightening, his eyes now dancing with enjoyment of the game we were playing. "No more than what is reasonable. But now, Miss Ponard, I am mightily confused. Your uncle, the Duke here, and my friend Claude spoke at length of the love you harbored secretly for me, and you must acknowledge them to be noble gentlemen."

"I acknowledge no such thing," I said with something like a snort. So he knew! And now we could make the most of it by scattering some insults among these conspirators of ours. "Do gentlemen lie so shamefully? But from my own dear cousin and my friend Ursula I learned that you were pining after me. Do you question the integrity of these ladies?"

Ursula was laughing as Benedict replied promptly, "Oh, I never question the integrity of ladies. I am sure they always believe what they say to be true, though it almost never is. But come now, they swore you were sick for me."

"They swore you were well-nigh dead for me!"

"Then you do not love me?"

"No, I only hold you in regard as a friend," I said, "And I should not wed you for a fortune!"

"What a relief that is," Benedict said with a sigh. "If I thought that my fortune was a temptation to you, I should have had to lose it all at cards."

"Now, that is quite enough!" said the Duke. "You can't go around smelling like April and May for a week, and then expect us all to believe you not to be in love at all. Besides, I have written proof at least of Benedict's affection." He took a crumpled paper from his pocket and waved it. "Here is a poem – or perhaps I should say an attempt at a poem – written in Benedict's hand concerning the many virtues of Beatrice Ponard. It was found in a wastebasket by one of the servants."

"The devil!" said Benedict vehemently, as he tried to grab the paper away from the Duke. But I got there first. As I started to read the worst piece of verse I had ever encountered, I was distracted by Hero's voice saying, "And here is a most interesting piece of literature written in my cousin's hand." I knew instantly that she must have found the paper on which I had scribbled _Beatrice Pade_ several times over, and I flew to her side to seize the incriminating document. But Benedict was ahead of me this time. We both took a few moments to read our respective papers. I shall not offend the reader by offering a copy of a poem that surely ought to have been burned, but which I still keep between the pages of one of my favorite books.

"Well," said Benedict slowly, "here's a miracle. Our hands against our hearts."

"Indeed," I murmured, wondering what his next move would be.

"Come then, I will marry you if I must. But only if you are fully aware that I take you out of pity." Outrageous man!

"Very well, but only if you realize it is actually I who take you out of pity, and partly to save your life," I said. "For they said your hopeless love for me was driving you into consumption." I was pleased with this piece of wit, and I did catch a glimpse of an appreciative glint in Benedict's eyes before I was suddenly and quite without warning pulled into his arms.

"I see there is only one way to put an end to your talking," was what I heard him say before I found myself being quite ruthlessly kissed.

My first sensation was that I was going to suffocate. He was holding me so tightly that I could feel his heart beating, and I was very aware of the fact that my means of breathing were incapacitated. Next I began to be indignant, thinking that he was treating me as a common barmaid or some such thing, and I attempted to pull away. It was to no avail; his grip became only stronger. Then I realized that after such a display, he would have to marry me, and I would be spending the rest of my life with the man I loved. It was not a disagreeable prospect; and besides, what did I care for the opinion of anyone else? So I abandoned my scruples, and returned the kiss with fervor.

When we finally parted, I became gradually aware that the Duke was laughing heartily, Letty and Lotta were exclaiming, and that there was a general buzz in the room. But I did not heed any of this. Benedict looked deep into my eyes and smiled.

"Most effective," he murmured. "Marry me?"

"Yes."

"And so you shall," said Donpedron, clapping a hand on Benedict's back. "This very day, if you choose." He produced another piece of paper. I took hold of it and saw that it was a special license.

"Where did this come from?" asked Benedict in a dangerously calm voice.

"It was obtained at the same time as Claude and Hero's," the Duke replied.

"You were very certain of your success, were you not?"

"Oh, Benedict, surely you are not going to hold my little conspiracy against me!"

Benedict turned once more to me and asked, "Should you like to be married today, Beatrice?"

"Why not?" I answered, amused by his unwillingness to be part of another of the Duke's schemes.

"Very well. I'll take that license, Duke, but I assure you that you need do me no more favors," he said frostily.

"What, then, shall we this very day see Benedict, the married man?" exclaimed the Duke. Benedict looked at me again, and his offended manner left him. He smiled and bowed to the assembled company.

"I'll tell you what, my friends," he announced as one preparing to make a great speech. "No joke you can make shall thrust me out of my good humor. You may mock at me for going so thoroughly against my own views on the subject of marriage, but it will not tempt a retort from me. Since I have determined to marry, I will hear nothing to be said against it. For man is a giddy creature and cannot tell what it is he wants until he has a wife to tell him so." He turned to Claude and held out his hand. "Claude, although I have in the past expressed a desire to shoot you, I now only wish to see you happily married." They shook hands, and then Benedict turned to the Duke. "Get yourself a wife, Your Grace," was all he said to Donpedron. And then he returned to my side.

"Beatrice," he said to me, "I will endeavor to be the best possible husband. Possible for me, that is. Which isn't saying very much, I know. Perhaps I might be able to get through the day without quarreling with you more than ten times."

"Twenty times might be a more reasonable goal," I suggested.


	42. This then is my conclusion Benedict

**4**

**Benedict**

The double wedding took place that afternoon, and was a very festive affair, though it was sparsely attended. Thaster and Miss Wagell were not married that day, as they had neither the special license nor had Mr. Wagell's permission been granted. Such a relatively mundane pair would no doubt have the banns read and be married in a country church without much pomp or ceremony. And their married life would no doubt be more comfortable than mine and Beatrice's.

Although the idea of sharing my wedding day with Claude and Hero had not at first appealed to me, I saw one great advantage to it. Getting married without delay meant that Beatrice and I did not have enough time to quarrel ourselves out of our engagement. Once the knot was tied, we would have to work through our quarrels; a notion that scared the life out of me, but something that would probably be good for us. As we all engaged in a hearty dinner after the wedding, a special courier arrived with a note for the Duke. It was from Arragon. Apparently, his schemes of escape had not prospered due to a carriage accident. The authorities commissioned by Donpedron had thus been able to catch up with him, and Arragon was now writing to beg his brother's assistance in bailing him out of jail. After this, we all amused ourselves with devising suitable punishments for Arragon, and I must confess that Beatrice's suggestions were even more brilliant than my own.

After dinner, Beatrice and I wandered off to the garden and ended up sitting on one of those plentiful stone benches with which the Manor's garden abounds. I asked her if she minded my smoking a cigarillo.

"Disgusting army habit," she pronounced. "Very well, I suppose it won't offend my powers of smell. After all, my father used to smoke about five a day."

"I promise only to smoke one," I said, occupying myself with lighting the cigarillo.

"You've made a lot of promises today, and perhaps you should slow down. If you make too many you won't keep them."

"Do you doubt me?" I asked, half in jest, half seriously. Was she certain of my loyalty to her? Was I certain of it?

"Not your intentions," she said. "But you might forget, you know."

"That would indeed be a grave matter," I agreed. "Let us compose a list, and then we shall go to the library and write it down. Once things are in ink they are more likely to stand."

"Was the play on words intentional?" she inquired.

"What?"

"Inkstand."

"Oh, no, just a coincidence, I suppose."

"Being witty even without trying," she said. "Now let me hear your list."

"I promise never to take another's part against you."

"Good. Next?"

"I promise never to quarrel with you in the middle of a ballroom."

"Wise, but somewhat rash. Go on."

"I promise never to call your virtue into question while in church."

"I ought to slap your face," she said, without rancor. To my deep satisfaction, she leaned her head against my shoulder and moved closer to me. "Keep going."

"Let's see…only ten quarrels, no, let's make it fifteen quarrels, one cigarillo, and three unforgivable insults each day."

"I suppose I can live with that," she mused.

"Now it's your turn," I said.

"My turn?" she queried, looking up at me indignantly. "You aren't suggesting, are you, Benedict Pade, that I need to make a list?"

"Yes, I am suggesting just that." I loved the flash in her eyes. "I would start with promising never to force me into challenging my friend to a duel."

"Oh, very well. I will also promise never to pretend I'm dead in order to arouse feelings of guilt."

"Thank you," I said, cordially. "That is a great weight off my mind. Do you think that with all this we will be able to make a happy life for ourselves?"

"Sometimes happy, sometimes infuriating," she said, laughing. "I have no delusions on that score. I daresay that our marriage will appear to others to be quite uncomfortable, and I'm sure that it will be far from dull. But I think it will be good, Benedict, as long as we never attempt to deceive each other. Deception is worse than anger and quarreling. I shall be angry with you countless times, but I shall never mistrust you. Quarrels can be made up. Mistrust never can."

"And the making up might be even more enjoyable than the quarreling," I said, chucking my cigarillo into the bushes.

_Finis_

_This is the end of my story. I hope that you are all satisfied with the conclusion. Thank you for reading my bit of fun, and special thanks to all those who have given me such encouraging reviews._


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